The Mystery that is Molly Hooper
by Writer of May
Summary: What if there was a mistery surrounding the lovable pathologist that the detective consultant has in high consideration?
1. Chapter 1

Hi! In a long time I haven't written anything... So, here I am, writing for something that got me really into it and never had I thought about it - the tv-show "Sherlock". Why am I doing this? Since Sherlock is a character like no other and it's so difficult to be in his mind? I'm coping. Yes, I'm coping after that final episode, "The Final Problem". It was sad and great, heart pumping and I wanted more! I just love Sherlock and his ways and what about that scene with Molly? And him wrecking "her" coffin? Wow!

So, I'm writting something after that storyline to help me cope... (In a very long time a show didn't affect me this much...)

Just a warning: I'm not versed in the science and medical stuff, what I write is what I learn and read on the internet, so give me a break on it. Thank you! And of course, I'm not english born, so bare with me. Ok? However, I'll take any critics and advices you would like to give me. I'm here to learn. Thank you!

This is the first and only chapter for now. I will continue if the muse keeps strucking me. Just be aware that it will take a little time to plot something worth reading. Just enjoy! ;)

* * *

 **Chapter One: What a few words can do**

\- Molly!

The St. Barts pathologist looked up from the body she was trying to analyze. It was a work she loved, though for some people would be considered gruesome in some way. And she hated it when she got interrupted, even if it was by Sherlock Holmes. Now more than ever.

\- What do you want, Sherlock?

The detective consultant immediately noticed the bite in the pathologist words. Like so many times since his return from Sherrinford about two months ago. He knew their relationship had taken a hard blow because of the words he had made her say, the words he had uttered. Twice! It still echoed in his mind, the images were seared in his brain, the pain in her voice and in her eyes. He noticed all of this things, not only because he was her friend - and Molly was most definitely the most important person in his life, besides John and now Rosie - but because since that day, their friendship - yes, friendship - was at peril.

She had retracted herself from being with him or do anything that would have to do with him. Only in the rare occasion of visiting her goddaughter, he would see her, or if it was at Lestrade's request, she would work with him. Otherwise, he would never talk to her.

\- I know Lestrade sent you a body to look at. It's that the one? - His too soft blue eyes went from her face to the body and back at her in a matter of a second.

\- You're on the case? - Molly asked, her face still in a frown.

Sherlock could see he had upset her. He had many times observed her examining a body without her knowledge. He now wondered if it was because of it, of how she do it, so methodically, that he trusted her regarding his own personal cases. He knew, most of all, she loved her job, but never knew why - that knowledge hit him like a blow and the feeling annoyed him.

Molly Hooper was the most easy person to read and at the same time, the most difficult one. Perhaps she had foreseen how much he would hurt her, and somehow she actually guarded herself against him and his temper by not giving away too much information about herself. And, in that moment, Sherlock Holmes realized how he knew nothing about Molly Hooper.

\- Sherlock?

\- What? - The detective looked stoically at her.

\- Why are you looking at me like that?

\- Like what?

\- Like you are analyzing... you know what? Forget it.

Sherlock frowned when she said those words in a hushed and quick tone.

\- What do you need, Sherlock?

Now those words he remembered. He knew them so well. They were seared in his brain and if he ever had to admit it, they were branded in his heart. And he actually bit his tongue to prevent the same answer from long ago to come out of his lips.

Molly must have thought the same for a lovely - yes, lovely - blush appeared on her cheeks and it made Sherlock's mind go crazy.

\- I need... a sample of blood. Two viles and the lab for analysis.

\- Sure. I'm almost finishing here and I'll bring the blood to you in a few minutes.

\- I can wait. - Said the detective consultant with a frown in his face as he saw Molly stiffen and look away from him with an uncomfortable stance.

\- I rather if you leave.

\- But...

\- This is my room. - Molly said without letting him finish, actually interrupting him. She had never done that. At least, not that he remembered.

\- I'll be waiting upstairs, then.

\- Mhmm... - Molly barely made any sound, barely acknowledging him.

Sherlock let out a sigh as he stared at her for two seconds before stepping away from the examination room and took the lift to the lab.

It passed half an hour before he listened to the quiet footsteps of Molly Hooper.

The door to the lab opened and he saw her scan the room before landing her brown eyes on him. Her lips became a thin line.

Molly walked slowly to the main table all ready with the instruments for all kinds of analysis.

\- Here you go. All yours. - She placed the viles half way across from him. For sure one of his long arms would reach it, avoiding any contact with her. - Have fun. - And she started to leave.

\- Where are you going? - Sherlock couldn't refrain from asking. Usually, she stayed to help him and he enjoyed it. Always had.

\- My shift ended half an hour ago.

\- But... What about the analysis? - Sherlock frowned at the lack of commitment from Molly.

\- You're here.

The detective straightened his back, understanding two meaning on her words, on the bite of them and in the pathologist voice.

\- I see...

Molly barely nodded.

\- You have everything you need?

Sherlock that had look away from her, narrowed his eyes and his piercing blues went back to her. It was like she was making it on purpose, almost as if she was mocking him. He never thought she was capable of it. _"No. I need you. Here."_ He almost said.

\- No. I have everything I need right here. - His quiet baritone voice said.

Molly merely nodded and to Sherlock's surprise, he saw a flash of something cross her eyes - sadness?

However, she walked way, shielding her face from him, before he could read her further.

Filing that information for later, Sherlock got to work and spend the rest of the night and most part of the evening doing his own research for the murder at hand.

* * *

 **Reviews are welcome!**


	2. Chapter 2

Hi! Another chapter!

Thank your for the reviews and I'm glad you all liked the start of this story. I know where I want to get with his, but it will take a bit of time. And I don't want to write a story about feelings and pain, I want it to have a good villain too but it's hard to find the right pace for it after Eurus and Moriarty.

However, whatever I write, good villain or not, I'll try to make it worth your time.

 ** _Info:_**

 _""+ italics_ = inner thoughts, mind palace

 _italics_ = scenes from the past

* * *

 **Chapter Two: A rational green eyed monster**

\- Something is wrong with Molly. - Sherlock Holmes stated as he looked ouf of the window of the 221B flat. His mind was paying attention to Rosie's sounds as she played with her father. It had been two weeks since he had last saw the petite pathologist. Besides his two years away, that was probably the longest he hadn't seen of her.

From the floor, where he was playing with his daughter that had woken up with a slight fever, John Watson looked up towards his friend. Since the Sherrinford incident, Sherlock had come back a different man and barely talked about Molly. There was only two occasions he had mentioned her name, actually. One, when he decided to find her and explain what had happened on that island, and two... Well, this was the second time.

\- What do you mean?

\- I believe she's been... avoiding me.

Sherlock actually sounded annoyed by the fact, John noticed by the timbre on his friend's voice.

\- Avoiding you? She was here two nights ago.

The detective turned swiftly at those words. His blue eyes focused on his best friend.

\- She was here?

\- You were out. Off to the Black Widow Case in the south.

\- She's been here? When I'm out? - Sherlock seemed like he was stuck on that conclusion.

\- Yes. Many times... - John said without thinking and realizing what his friend was thinking, more like deducing. - Well, she... You have to think about what she's been through, been feeling...

\- Sentiment? - The detective didn't let Watson finish, wanting confirmation.

\- Yes.

\- It's been three months, John! - Sherlock said impatiently, sitting on his usual chair.

John sighed. He knew how much it hurt Sherlock and how much it had hurt Molly to say those words. He had been observing them for years now and after the knowledge of the later helping the first fake his death from Moriarty, he knew there was something deep between the two. He may not have Sherlock´s deductive brain, but he wasn't an idiot. He knew that for Sherlock, Molly was important and in his own way he cared for her - he couldn't think of a better word for it since love was still a very new sentiment for the detective consultant and so much stranger at the moment. However, John could see it when Sherlock was with his goddaughter, the care - fine, the love.

\- I'm sure she'll come around. Don't worry, mate. She just needs time.

Sherlock became quiet, which wasn't unsual, if not for the fact John knowing he was analysing Molly Hooper. And probably over analysing it too much for his - and hers - own good.

It hadn't been a full five minutes when Sherlock stood up without a word and walked out the door. Thirty seconds later the front door of the 221B Baker Street got shut with a loud bang.

\- Your godfather is going nuts with something he doesn't understand. - John eventually said poking Rosie's belly which made the baby gurgle.

...

All the way to the hospital, the detective consultant tried to find ways to coax Molly Hooper to talk to him.

He could flirt, like so many times before? _"No! Not now."_

He could ask for her opinion on a case? _"No! She wouldn't fall for it."_

He could tell her he needed her help once again? _"Bollocks, no!"_

Sherlock sighed as his eyes stayed focused on the street in front of him. The image of Molly's face when he went to find her upon the time of his return from Sherrinford was burned into his brain.

 _He could see she had been woken up - as he went straight from the airport to her flat at dawn - and that she had fallen asleep crying. No, her red cheeks were actually from trying to wipe the tears so furiously, given the redness of her hand. So, maybe, she had never fallen asleep._

 _Quietly, Molly had stepped aside from the door in a quiet invitation. They had sat for a few minutes in silence before he had started to explain the situation. It was the least she deserved, he had thought to himself at the time. And he was proud of that thought since before - before John or even Molly - he would never think on his actions and what they could do to the wellbeing of others._

 _Molly, however, listened every word in silence - he thought she was actually reading him as he told the story, deducing him - and in the end she had thanked him for the consideration and forgave him for his words and actions._

Now, he thought as he entered St. Barts, she had not forgave him and she was still hurt if he considered everything she had said - or better yet, not said - and done for the past three months.

Like a man on a mission, a swift Sherlock Holmes walked to the morgue without paying much attention to the people he encountered on the many corridors of the institution.

As he got there, his blue eyes scanned the two examination rooms and landed on Molly's form on the second one. She had her protection helmet on and a scalpel on her hand. And she was talking with someone that came into view a second later.

The detective consultant observed the man that had Molly - his pathologist Molly, he thought - attention completely on him. He was tall, with a straight pose, dark eyes that smiled a lot - which was freaking Sherlock out - and his movements flowed so easily as his lips while he talked. Sherlock could also see that the man came from a rich family given his Patek Philippe 1527 and liked to take care of himself, given the shaved face, well shaped eyebrows and manicured nails.

Sherlock snarled - yes, snarled - as he deducted the stranger. What was that feeling that appeared on the pit of his stomach out of nowhere?

Suddenly, Molly's laughter echoed through the door and Sherlock's eyebrows shot up. He never heard her do that sound before. Never.

Smile, yes.

Giggle, yes.

Laughter? No.

 _"It's obvious, isn't it?"_ \- A voice very similar to the one of James Moriarty sounded from his mind palace.

 _"No."_ \- Sherlock answered.

 _"No? Poor Sherlock Holmes looking through the glass to the woman he only causes grief and pain._ \- Moriarty voice went pouty. - _No wonder I never thought of using Molly Hooper to threaten you. It would have been a hell of a game."_

 _"Shut. Up!"_

Sherlock's inner thoughts stopped when he saw Molly's brown eyes find him on the other side of the door and her smile faltered and disappeared from her lips - lips that were carrying lipstick and eyes that were carrying a light pink of eyeshadow. His brain knew what that meant. But, instead of going inside, Sherlock merely gave her a quick smile before he walked away.

Not a second later, he heard footsteps.

\- Was there something you wanted, Sherlock?

He turned to Molly that, spite her small strides, had caught up with him.

\- No, nothing at all. Just... To see if you were okay.

Molly was caught off guard at Sherlock's words. He had never visited her to only see if she was okay. Usually, his visits had an ulterior motive.

\- Yes, I am okay. But I wouldn't think you would come here to know that. You could have sent a text.

Sherlock took a step forward, narrowing his ice blue eyes when the pathologist took one back. That was different, she never backed away from him.

\- I wanted to see you. Is there something wrong with that?

Brown eyes narrowed, confused.

\- Are you saying that because you need body parts?

\- What? No. - Sherlock frowned, considering her words and all of his requests from the past.

\- Excuse me for not believing, Sherlock.

\- I can't come see you now? - The detective took another step in her direction and she did the same as before, taking a step back. - You are, after all, my friend, Molly.

Once again, spite knowing him for years, Molly got surprised.

\- Why did you leave then, if you came to see me?

\- I could see you were busy. Didn't want to interrupt.

\- That's new... - Molly saw him leaning his head to the side at her half whispered words. - Well, you saw me and yes, I am busy. Have a good day, Sherlock. - She turned back to the examination room.

\- Perhaps you could come by later? Rosie's been with a fever all day, I'm sure John could use a break. - Sherlock tried on a smile when he saw her look back at him.

\- Perhaps...

\- Dr. Hooper, I'm in need of your assistance. - The man that had been with Molly stood right outside the examination room.

Torned between the two requests, noticing the sudden angry look on Sherlock's face and the expectation on the other man, Molly nodded at the later and looked back at the first.

\- Like I said, I'm busy, Sherlock.

 _"She was never busy. Not for me. Never..."_ His mind stuck on that deduction and a hollow feeling, he couldn't place and recognize, emerged from somewhere.

Sherlock's jaw twitched and that was not a good sign. He merely nodded, his ice blue eyes went over to the man behind Molly before he spoke again.

\- I'm sure you'll find the time to visit your goddaughter when you can. Have a good day, Molly Hooper.

Without another word or hesitation, without letting her speak when she was about to, the detective consultant left the morgue and stepped out of St. Barts into the brisk London air.

* * *

*Patek Philippe 1527 - Watch

 **Reviews, please?**


	3. Chapter 3

Hi! Another chapter! Hope you enjoy it! I'm really enjoying writing this story.

 ** _Info:_**

 _""+ italics_ = inner thoughts, mind palace

 _italics_ = scenes from the past

* * *

 **Chapter Three: A new tune**

The walk back to the 221B Baker Street, helped Sherlock come to terms on many things he had observed.

One: Molly was definitely avoiding him.

Two: She was hurt, hence the many allusions towards his actions in the past.

Three: She had stepped away from his advances. Twice. Which for Molly was odd. She had never done that, she had never avoided him or spoke in half whispers to him.

As he walked, Sherlock also tried to figure out the feeling it had remained in the pit of his stomach... that hollow feeling that was stuck to him now. He knew it had to be related with Molly - her rejection to be in his company, perhaps?

Should he call it sadness? Was that the feeling that kept Molly company on the many years he had rejected her and kept her at arm's length?

Sherlock knew now why he had done that, why he never had friends, why it always had been so difficult for him to connect with people. His unconscious was protecting him and the people that he, without knowing, cared about.

Eurus.

His long lost sister had seen something. Something between him and Molly. Something that Moriarty did not see. Something that even he, Sherlock himself have not seen.

Perhaps he should go talk to her. Perhaps he could ask her, if she was willing to speak again.

The detective consultant picked up his phone and texted the British Government.

 **SH:** End of the month.

 **SH:** Need to see her.

 **MH:** Not a good idea at the moment.

 **SH:** I can always see her on my own, brother mine.

 **SH:** Just letting you know is the most reasonable thing to do.

 **MH:** Since when did you become the reasonable one, Sherlock?

 **MH:** Nevermind. Saturday 9 a.m.

Sherlock didn't bother to reply back to his older brother - he knew the hour was set and he would see Eurus - and as soon as he got to the 221B, he shed his long coat and suit jacket and got into his dark dressing robe. He wanted that hollow feeling to be gone.

He picked up his Stradivarius and, for the first time in three months, Sherlock Holmes assumed position by the window and started to play.

...

The sound of the music echoed through the 221B until it reached the 221C, to John Watson's ears. He may not understand much of music but that was definitely a sad tune. Sadder than usual.

Since he had moved back to Baker Street, after the completion on the reconstruction of the B flat, John felt more at ease after Mary's death. Not that the pain didn't struck at times, but he was better than all of those months he had been angry at Sherlock. And who could blame him if sometimes he left Rosie with Mrs. Hudson to go have a walk and brood over his lost love?

After checking on Rosie to make sure she was still asleep, John went to the upper flat to find his best friend looking out to the street as he played his violin.

It was a new tune definitely.

Not the one for thinking - deducing as Sherlock would say.

Not the one for The Woman - he usually played that one when a case involved something that reminded him of her.

Not the one for his wedding - that one he usually played for Rosie now, especially when she was having trouble sleeping. There was that sentiment - love - again.

Not the one he played for and with Eurus.

John didn't want to interrupt him, but he was curious to know how the conversation with Molly went. He cleared his throat and that made Sherlock stop, but not loot back at him.

\- What happened, mate? What did Molly say?

\- Nothing.

\- Nothing? - John frowned as he watched his friend's body posture and how tense he seemed, if he was reading him right.

\- She was busy. - Sherlock still didn't turn back to his friend and merely scribbled some notes on the music sheet.

\- She was... busy? For you?

\- And laughing too, if you can imagine.

\- Wait... How could she be laughing?

\- There was someone with her while she performed an autopsy, John.

\- And you didn't interrupt them?

\- Nope. - That was Sherlock's only answer before he started to play his violin once again.

Crossing his arms, thinking on the detective consultant words, John Watson frowned and sat on his usual chair. His eyes followed his friend's movements. There was definitely something Sherlock wasn't telling him.

\- You're composing. - The doctor stated. - You only do that when you're emotional. Have you thought about that?

Sherlock stopped once more and this time he looked back John with an obstinate look on his face.

\- I'm not emo... Look, is like you said, John, Molly needs more time. - He shrugged as if that fact was not important.

John nodded, still observing his friend.

\- But are you actually going to give it to her? Time?

\- Yes, John! Of course, I am going to give it to her. Now leave me be. - Sherlock said a bit dramatically as he turned away.

John narrowed his eyes. He knew better. He knew that Sherlock was going to give Molly time, but on his own terms. He just had to keep an eye on him so he wouldn't screw up the already fragile relationship his friend had with the pathologist, that was also his friend.

The sound of the violin reached his ears once again and John Watson decided to let that conversation go. At least for now.

...

Saturday came and Sherlock entered Eurus private wing of the Sherrinford institution.

He stood for a few minutes in silence, observing his sister.

Eurus had her back to him and it seemed she had not realized there was someone in the room with her. But Sherlock knew better.

Placing the case of his violin on one of the chairs, he opened it and picked up his Stradivarius. The tune started slow, sad and almost quiet.

There was movement on the corner of his eyes and the older brother looked up at his little sister.

From his deduction, Sherlock knew that Eurus was intrigued by the change of music. Her blue eyes followed the movement of his arms and fingers. She was learning and not even five minutes had passed and she was already picking up her own violin and joined him.

The two violins sounded so beautifully in the quiet room, so in tune and echoing over the walls as if there was nothing else in the world.

Brother and sister stayed like that for an hour. Repeating and changing and evolving the tune Sherlock had started and, in the end, he had what he came for. He knew what the music meant, for who it was and what was in it. His own emotions, his own fears and sorrow and joy, all mixed together and all for one person to hear and understand.

\- What can I do, Sherlock? - Eurus voice sounded so quietly and ghostly throughout the speakers of the room.

\- You already helped me, Eurus.

\- I merely helped you finish the music. It is quite beautiful, Sherlock. I wonder for who it is. - There was something in Eurus tone of voice that made Sherlock aware of what he had transpired throughout their composition.

\- You know who.

\- Molly Hooper.

Sherlock merely nodded.

\- I just deducted. I started working on this piece only two days ago. And I didn't know I was writing it for her.

\- You should show it to her then, brother.

\- She no longer desires my company. - There was sadness in his voice.

Eurus only leaned her head to the side.

\- Emotions, Sherlock. Spite the time being a healer of all wounds, there is one that lingers there, just under the surface. That was one of the reasons I submitted you and her to that experiment.

Sherlock took one step closer to the glass that divided the room.

\- What did you see? What did you see that Moriarty didn't, Eurus? That only I recently come to comprehend.

\- You never acknowledged her feelings for you, Sherlock. And when you... died, she was the one that you went to. Not John Watson, not Mycroft, not Detective Inspector Lestrade. No. You went to Molly Hooper. Even then, you knew what she meant for you, what you meant for her. Even when you were in the early stages of breaking through the sentiment, you trusted her with your life.

\- But...

\- Oh, Sherlock. You and Irene Adler? - That earned Eurus a frowned look from her older brother. - You two may have something but it's more physical and intellectual. You and Molly... The mere avoidance of her feelings for you makes you shut her down and cause her pain. And that's how I knew there was an emotion there. - Eurus placed her index finger on the glass, right above Sherlock's chest, where his heart stood. - And right at this very moment, in your peculiar little brain, you do not think you are deserving of the love of someone so pure, honest, bubbly like Molly Hooper. So opposite of what you are.

Sherlock's forehead turned to a deep frown as he considered Eurus words. For many years he had thought he was not deserving of anyone's love, or even capable of love himself. And after he had caused - no, it was not your fault - Mary Watson's death, that thought became deeper, especially after John had turned away from him and his help.

\- And am I? Deserving of her love?

Two sets of blue eyes met. Eurus merely smiled, turning away from him and sitting on her bed, as if not wanting to continue that dull conversation.

Sherlock knew the visit was over and placed his violin back on the case.

When he was about to enter the elevator that would take him to the upper levels, Eurus spoke.

\- You should show her that tune.

* * *

*Composition - Musical composition is the process of making or forming a piece of music by combining the parts, or elements of music.

 **Review, please?**


	4. Chapter 4

Hi! Happy Easter! Hope you enjoy this new chapter!

 ** _Info:_**

 _""+ italics_ = inner thoughts, mind palace

 _italics_ = scenes from the past

* * *

 **Chapter Four: An annoying detective**

\- Molly Hooper!

The pathologist got startled at Sherlock's voice in the quiet room when he opened the lab doors rather dramatically - with both hands on both handles, just so you know. Annoyed, she looked over the microscope at him.

The detective blue eyes landed on Molly and he smiled rather mischieveously.

After his talk with Eurus, Sherlock had decided he would treat Molly as an experiment - his insides trembled at the thought of John finding it out and knock him out to the ground - but he had to know what was really wrong with his - yes, his - pathologist.

And what better way to start his experiment on Molly's safe location, St. Barts Hospital, which coincidentally had just received a body for examination after Detective Inspector Lestrade had buggered him with a phonecall.

\- I'm in need of the lab and of your assistance. - The detective consultant said in his deep baritone voice with a smile on his lips.

Molly merely rolled her eyes, without missing the soft light on his. It was as if he was happy at the prospect of spending the day with her upon his request.

\- A new case? - The pathologist went back to look through the microscope and tried to sound casual, this was after all Sherlock Holmes and she was already used to his mannerisms.

-Yes. Lestrade phoned me this morning.

\- What is it about? - Molly asked, glancing at the detective's way. She may still be hurt, or even angry, but she couldn´t help the feeling it resumed in her stomach every time he walked into the room.

\- A woman. A suicide. But there are indications that it wasn't one, according to Lestrade. He sent me some photos and there are marks I can't explain and I want to analyze the body for myself.

Molly sighed, taking a folder out of the pile she had next to her and slid it across the table for him to catch, which he did rather easily.

\- Well, I already examined the body and didn't find any conclusions to your theory, Sherlock. I'm just waiting on a few tests regarding her stomach contents and blood so I can send the report to Dt. Lestrade.

The detective consultant looked over the pages, smiling at the meticulous way Molly explained her conclusions and her beautiful designed calligraphy on some parts of the document.

\- I'm afraid I need to examine the body nonetheless. Didn't got a chance this morning.

\- It's downstairs. - Molly said not looking at him as she preferred taking notes on her notepad.

For a second the room went quiet and Molly thought he had left until her brown eyes landed on him once again. He looked... strange? Hesitant can be the word. Sherlock Holmes wasn't an hesitant person.

\- Would you care to examine it? - Sherlock said, almost unsure with the request. - With me?

Puzzled, Molly didn't know what to say, trying to comprehend the meaning. Did he need something? Of course not, she already had given him permission to look over the body and access to the lab.

\- Is there something wrong, Molly? - Sherlock wanted to step closer to her at her silent expression. He could see she was processing his words, trying to find something else behind them, some different meaning.

\- You never wanted me to assist you. - Her voice came out small, almost a whisper.

Sherlock took a step closer and he saw how Molly straightened herself as if she was standing and had taken a step away from him like she had done two weeks ago.

\- I'm requesting it now. - The detective consultant said softly.

For a moment, Molly's jaw fell before she collected herself and merely nodded, not trusting her voice to speak at the moment. She followed him out of the lab, her brain trying to process those five minutes and the one conclusion she had by the time they got to the morgue, was that Sherlock Holmes was an insane man with mood swings and childlike tantrums.

...

An hour had passed.

Sherlock was reexamining the body in question for the fifth time, while Molly read and re-read her report, sometimes to herself, other times out loud for him to hear when he asked for it and file it away for his own deduction of the crime.

By now they had figure it out that it was indeed a fake suicide - faint marks on the woman's wrists said she had been bound before hanged; tiny points inside of her elbows were considered from a needle which made them think the woman had been drugged as well; then she was the third woman with same profile as other two Sherlock had read about on the papers - brown eyes, dark long hair, petite frame, secluded work place, single and socially active as he had been examining on their various social networks websites.

At some point, Molly looked up and observed Sherlock. In three weeks she hadn't heard anything from him, unless you count the times John would call her to let her know how Rosie was going and slipped some information about the blue eyed man. Besides, the last time Sherlock and her had spoken, she had rejected his invitation to a 221B visit and parted in a harsh way.

Now, he was almost happy - like he always was with a new, mysterious case. Something had definitely changed, though, over the course of those weeks. Usually, he would prefer to be left alone, talking to himself while examining a body on his own, but now? Now, however mumbling, he wanted all sorts of opinions from her and contested every now and then her theories. He was definitely driving her crazy and unaware of her own musings.

\- You alright, Molly? - His voice sounded so close to her ear that Molly jumped and took a step away from him with her chest heaving heavily.

\- Bollocks, Sherlock! Don't do that!

\- You stopped answering my questions. What were you thinking? - His ice blue eyes moved from her face to her chest, cheeks and back again to her eyes as if assessing her condition. There was curiosity in them as well.

\- Nothing. I was just thinking in some things. Not work related, so you don't need to worry. - Molly tried to get her breathing back to normal.

\- Why wouldn't I worry? You know very well how to divide work from personal life and...

\- Is this taking much longer, Sherlock? I have a lunch date. - She interrupted him, trying to change the subject. She didn't want to delve into her personal musings and thoughts. Not with Sherlock - especially not with Sherlock.

The detective consultant raised a brow, looking at the clock on the morgue's wall. That was new. Besides her unawareness of the last minutes, Molly never left her work before it was finished. Reflecting on this new Molly, he rolled up his sleeves and picked the riding crop to make an experiment on his conclusions.

\- You can go. I can continue here, if you allow me. - Sherlock turned his back to her as he got ready.

 _"There it was again. He never asked for permission."_ Molly noticed something resembling as sadness in his eyes and voice once he left a considerable distance between the two.

\- Hum.. Sure. - She said as she walked out of the examination room without further delay. There was a nagging feeling settling in her mind, telling her to be careful, to put some distance between the two before... Before she got too interested again... Before she got hurt again.

However, Sherlock was thinking on only one thing. _"She didn't ask if I wanted something. She always asked."_

...

Sherlock Holmes always found his prey. Even if it was just an easy one that at the moment was trying to avoid him or just merely not wanting his company.

Blue eyes found Molly Hooper through the window of the restaurant. She was with that man again - the manicured nails and expensive watch - and he snarled - there it was again, that feeling. He narrowed his eyes when he saw her smile and look so much at ease than she had been all morning.

\- Hello! - Sherlock appeared out of nowhere, startling both Molly and her company. He immediately sat down on the chair next to her. - Sherlock Holmes. Pleasure to meet you. - He raised his hand to the man - it was the proper thing to do, after all.

\- Mathias Westbrook. - The man answered, shaking the detective consultant hand.

Sherlock leaned his head to the side, recognizing the name.

\- Westbrook? From the Westbrook Health and Media, stationed in Boston?

\- You heard about us, Mr. Holmes? Didn't know a private detective would take interest on an American Corporation.

\- Why wouldn't I? I take interest in everything regarding my friends. - Sherlock glanced Molly's way, which made her frown slightly, although there was a hint of a blush in her cheeks. - And the term is detective consultant.

\- Sherlock...

\- Just trying to correct, Molly. It's very easily mispronounced. - He glanced her way.

However, the american had an odd look on his face as if he was observing the two. Sherlock noticed and filed that information for later.

\- It's quite alright, Molly. Apologies, Mr. Holmes. I heard a lot about of you.

\- I'm sure Molly keeps you updated. - Sherlock tried to make a joke with an odd smile.

\- Molly? Oh, no. She mentioned you once, yes, but what I mean is that I follow Dr. Watson's blog. It's quite interesting. I am fascinated with all of your deductions and how you bring them to the light.

Sherlock inner thoughts froze. Molly mentioned him only once to a strange man. He remembered Tom - her last boyfriend, he snarled inwardly - had mentioned she couldn't stop talking about him during the two years he had been supposedly dead.

\- Well, it was something that was born with me. Quite remarkable considering I have very ordinary parents.

\- Usually, the geniuses do come from ordinary parents, Mr. Holmes. I should know. My parents, though normal in terms of IQ, dealt with a lot to bring the company to where it is at the moment. I'm lucky, in fact, to be able to keep it running for them.

\- Ah, yes. Maintaining an empire it is quite troublesome and a challenge, I bet. Especially with your IQ.

\- My IQ? Yes, I'm one of the lucky ones to be above the normal. - Mathias Westbrooke nodded, clearly proud and with a hint of pretension - almost snobbery like, Sherlock deducted. But his smile didn't reach his eyes as he stared to the detective consultant and then back at Molly after reaching for his watch. - Well, our lunch was lovely, Molly. I hope next time I'll have an answer? - He stood with a grave expression on his face.

\- Sure, Mathias. - Molly gave him a smile and got startled when the man took her hand - with no permission - and kissed the back before leaving.

For a moment there was silence.

\- An answer? - Sherlock turned his body completely towards her.

\- What are you doing here, Sherlock? - Molly didn't look back at him. Oh, she looked angry. - I thought you were staying at the lab.

\- I got hungry.

\- You never eat on a case. Don't fool me, Sherlock. - Molly finally stood, taking her coat and purse but still not looking at him.

\- You didn't ask me if I wanted something.

\- So? - That made the pathologist finally look at him.

\- So it's nothing like you, Molly Hooper.

\- Maybe I changed. - Molly shrugged with narrowed, mocking eyes and walked away from him.

With a sigh, Sherlock followed her out into the streets of London to get back to St. Barts.

What was happening to him? To her? To them? She was always angry with him now. She always payed attention to him and now she spaces out through out their morning together. And now... Now, she has lunch with a new man.

 _"Perhaps she has finally moved on from you, Sherlock."_ Moriarty's sarcastic voice sounded from his mind palace.

 _"No! She said she loved me, she said she couldn't say it because it was true. How could she have moved on after that? Only after three months of saying those words? It wasn't long enough! It wasn't long enough for me..."_

* * *

 **Reviews, please?**


	5. Chapter 5

Hi! Another chapter! Hope you enjoy it! I can't believe I'm already on the fifth one!

This chapter was a hard one to name...

 ** _Info:_**

 _""+ italics_ = inner thoughts, mind palace

 _italics_ = scenes from the past

* * *

 **Chapter Five: A rueful deduction**

 _"It wasn't long enough for me..."_

The thought haunted Sherlock Holmes over the next few days.

How could that thought make such a difference on the way he perceived Molly Hooper and her mind - no, her heart.

After he had left the restaurant, his mind had locked on that thought. The rest of the day at the lab was spent in silence, neither had talked and Sherlock had retreated to his mind palace and barely came out of it.

Sometimes he would glance at Molly. Sherlock could see that something was troubling her and he desperately wanted to know what it was but he had restrained himself, knowing she wouldn't appreciate the talk or even his own voice.

Sometimes he would sense that Molly was watching him - and when he looked up, she would look away - and that would make him hope that whatever kind of relationship they had wasn't completely lost.

At one point - as an experiment, to see her reaction - Sherlock had stepped closer to her with the excuse to use the computer. He merely saw Molly step out of his way and with no word leave the lab.

His experiment had failed or, better yet, it had succeeded. With those mixed conclusions, Sherlock committed himself to his deductions and it only had been later at night when he had realized she hadn't come back.

The hollow opened further inside of him.

He knew what Molly Hooper meant to him, what she had done for him over the years, in how he had used her for his own interests and experiments, in how he had caused her pain - the culmination of it had been three months ago and he had seen it all through a TV screen. He knew she always had feelings for him - a pathetic little crush, he had call it at some point - and he had taken advantage of it nonetheless.

Over time, he had come to realize that those pathetic feelings were something more deep, stronger. But love? Never. It was like his sister had said, he wasn't deserving of love. How could he? Someone so rude and careless, how could someone like him have the love of someone like Molly Hooper? But then again, John Watson became his best friend, asked him to be his best man, to be a godfather and that had to mean something, that had to mean that he was doing something right.

Sherlock Homes barely understood women. However he did know that with a few little words, a few little gestures he could get anywhere and do anything - look at what happened with Molly or even Janine, he had thought to himself. And The Woman had stirred something in him, something that was lost and emerged, something he couldn't explain, something that opened his eyes - dare he say, his heart?

However, now, not even his own deductions could help him. He couldn't read Molly Hooper. And he hated the feeling of not knowing what to do. The only thing he knew was that Molly grew to despise him - the pain he had caused her, for as much explained and forgiven, was unforgivable and it grew in her like a thorny ivy.

 _"I told you I would burn the heart out of you."_ Moriaty's voice sounded as a mockery.

 _"This is all your doing."_ Sherlock sneered at the abnoxious man.

 _"This is all your sister's doing, Sherlock. She did an amazing job breaking you. I wish I had her idea. Use lovely Molly. Who would guess that the heartless detective had it deep with the mousey pahologist? Even then..."_

 _"Don't talk about her!"_ Sherlock's hand grabbed Moriarty's shirt in a sudden and harsh move.

 _"Oh-oh-oh... Careful. These are designer clothes."_ Jim Moriarty gave him a presumptuous look. _"It would have been a hell of a game. Actually, I had a bit of fun with her. I can talk about that, if you like."_ Sherlock launched over him.

\- Holmes, are you listening at all?

Sherlock looked up to see Greg Lestrade leaning over his work table, watching him with a curious look.

\- Apologies, Detective Inspector. I was thinking about the case. I have a theory. Perhaps we can catch the murderer with a decoy.

\- A decoy? - Lestrade frowned. What was the great Sherlock Holmes scheming about now?

\- Yes. Use a woman similar to those he killed. I've already sent a few messages on the various dating websites those women used.

\- And? Please do tell, who would we use as a decoy?

\- Molly Hooper.

Lestrade opened his eyes in surprise.

\- Have you gone completely mad, Holmes? I'm not going to put her in danger. I'm not y... - Lestrade stopped, straightening himself.

Sherlock leaned his head to the side when the Detective Inspector stopped. He looked unease, Sherlock deduced.

\- What were you going to say, Lestrade?

\- Nothing.

The detective consultant narrowed his eyes.

\- You were going to say, I'm not you, weren't you? I would never put Molly in danger, Lestrade.

\- You've been doing that over the years, Holmes. - Lestrade said in a reprimand tone. - She's not material for a decoy. Besides she's a civilian.

\- I can promise you, Greg. - Sherlock stood up getting an odd look from the Detective Inspector. - She would not be in any danger.

Lestrade leaned his head to the side seeing something in Sherlock's face that was strange. Something that made him change his mind.

\- Fine. But only if she agrees. If she doesn't, promise me, Holmes, you would leave her alone. You would not use her without her knowledge.

\- I promise, Detective Inspector.

...

Sherlock was standing outside her flat. Been a week since he had been truly with her.

Since he had interrupted her lunchdate, Molly was avoiding him, leaving the room when he walked in, barely talked to him when he asked a question. Her face always telling him, always making him deduce she was angry, hurt - sad?

So, he had decided to take a break, to give Molly a break from him and his temper. He could do that. He owed her that much.

 _"Look who's avoiding his giiiirlfriend."_ Moriarty's sing-song voice sounded.

 _"Shut. Up."_

Therefore, Sherlock Holmes went over his own investigation, examining the victims profiles, getting to know them and their friends, to know what motivated them, to know why they were single and why they liked their lives, their jobs. And he came to one conclusion, he was profiling Molly Hooper - hence his idea to use her as a decoy.

The light of the living room got turned on, getting his attention. He could see Molly's silhoutte through the curtains.

The detective consultant had a difficult decision to make. His deductions would be correct if Molly decided to let her pain aside and help him for once. After that, if she still hadn't forgave him, he would leave her alone. Or as alone as he would let her. No, he couldn't let that thought linger or he would never solve this case.

Walking slowly, preparing himself, Sherlock ringed her bell and waited.

\- Yes? - Molly's voice sounded ghostly over the speaker.

\- It's me. - She would recognize his voice. - I need to have a word with you, Molly. - He took a deep breath. - Please? - He heard her sigh.

\- Okay. - The door of the building buzzed and he walked up the stairs.

The door of Molly's flat was already open and he entered, closing it quietly. Sherlock quickly found her by the sofa, sitting with a mug of tea in her hands.

\- Is there something wrong, Sherlock? I was getting ready to bed. - There was no warmth in her voice. Just tiredness.

The detective consultant looked around the flat for a moment. It looked almost the same as three years ago when he hid in there for a couple of days before Mycroft sent him away to take care of Moriarty's network throughout Europe.

\- I have an idea. Regarding the case.

\- And you couldn't wait for tomorrow? Or you could have just texted.

\- I prefered not to wait and not to text.

Sherlock walked to her and sat opposite to her on the other side of the sofa. Her brown eyes were observing him, he could tell. Spite her neutral expression, Molly looked cozy in her too big sweater over her pajamas and pink, fluffy slippers.

\- Go on, then. I have an early morning tomorrow, Sherlock.

\- I know how to catch the murderer. All of three women have many similarities and if you're willing, we can catch him. Together.

Molly Hooper frowned, trying to follow his reasoning.

\- Together? What is that suppose to mean?

\- Well, they all share your characteristics, Molly. Petite, brown eyes, brown hair, secluded workplace...

\- Single. - There was a hint of hurt in her voice as she looked away from him.

\- Yes. No! Wait. That was not what I wanted you to focus on. - He slid in the sofa in her direction and he noticed how she flinched, so he went no further.

\- Then, what, Sherlock? - Molly's brown eyes landed on him once again.

\- I merely wanted to acknowledge that and make you see that you can catch him.

\- Me?

\- Yes. Undercover.

\- And you think Lestrade is going to let you do this?

\- He already said yes. With the condition of you agreeing. You would be safe all the time. And I would be there with you.

\- You? Doing what?

\- Watching you. Keeping you safe. - Sherlock said those words with so much intensity in his baritone voice that for a moment Molly's heartbeat faltered and she got silence for a few seconds. - Molly?

\- Can't you find anyone else? - Molly stood up, walking to the kitchen, his nearness was overwhelming. - I'm not police material or adventurous. Besides you already observe me enough at the lab. - She said those words without thinking and hoped he hadn't listened.

\- Do you have any problem of me observing you?

Molly jumped at the sound of his voice turning to see that Sherlock was by the kitchen door. His intense blue eyes on her.

\- I... it's been too many years of you doing that. I don't need any more observing from you, Sherlock.

\- There's no one else. - Sherlock looked deep into Molly's brown eyes as he walked towards her. He saw her blush slightly, not as much as a few years ago. However, it was considerable enough for him to think that he still affected her and that was good for his own experiment, it meant he still had a chance. - There's no one else I would trust this part of my deduction. Would you please do this for me? No. With me?

Molly raised a brow at his change of words, crossing her arms.

\- What do I get in return? - The pathologist said in an almost petulant way.

\- Me. - Molly narrowed her eyes, not understanding. - I can do something for you or you can ask me anything and I would do it without asking why.

The pathologist considered, going over the past few days and their case. She didn't want the murders to continue and if there was something she knew about Sherlock was that he never asked anything like that if he didn't know for sure it would work.

\- Fine. Just tell me what I have to do and I'll do it.

A smile grew on the detective consultant lips and the urge to kiss her slammed hard inside of him.

\- You don't have to do anything. I'll give you more details in the morning. I'll let you sleep now.

Without waiting for any more words from her, Sherlock walked out of the kitchen.

\- Goodnight, Sherlock.

The detective consultant turned his head to the side to see that Molly had followed him to the front door and he offered her a smile.

\- Sweet dreams, Molly Hooper.

* * *

 **Reviews, please?**


	6. Chapter 6

Hi! Another chapter! Hope you enjoy it! And thank you for the latest follows. I hope you are all enjoying it as much as I am.

 ** _Info:_**

 _""+ italics_ = inner thoughts, mind palace

 _italics_ = scenes from the past

* * *

 **Chapter Six: The hollowed plan**

Blue-green eyes watched her every movement - the turn of her head when she placed her hair back, the fingers that touched the side of her neck, the chest that went up and down and most of all the brown eyes that went over the pub they were currently in.

Sherlock Holmes were sitting at a booth, with a pint - just for the part - and was currently watching Molly Hooper as she waited for what was supposed to be the murderer of three women.

He had promised he would keep an eye on her, would keep her safe and so that's what he was doing. If there was one thing he could do for her, was that. He couldn't risk losing one of his friends - not in the way he had lost Mary Watson. He would not see one of his friends get killed because of one of his plans. And so, he would do anything to protect Molly Hooper, the person he cared the most.

\- Stop fidgeting, Molly. - Sherlock said more to himself, knowing she couldn't hear him. It was frustrating seeing her do that and not warn her.

He wanted her to wear a microphone and an ear piece - he considered asking one from the top of the line from Mycroft - and she had refused. She told him that whoever was after those women would see it. However, the pathologist kept fidgeting in her seat and touching her ear as if she was wearing something.

 _"She didn't had one, a nervous tick."_ Sherlock deduced. At that moment, he raised his brow watching the bartender give Molly a few words and smiles. He narrowed his eyes.

The dress had been a problem. He wanted something more discreet - perhaps because it wasn't meant for him but for another and he wanted to protect her, but Molly had decided on something a bit more showing - with the help of Mrs. Hudson, he grumbled to himself.

Once his landlady had heard about the plan - eavesdropping on his and John's conversation, which the good doctor was making a fuss out of it - she said she had the perfect dress that Molly could wear. Why did that woman own such dresses, Sherlock didn't know - but once Molly got out of Mrs. Hudson flat, even Lestrade got silent.

The dress was dark blue, with a little flare, just above the knee with little flakes of gold all over but not with much quantity. And then there was the cleavage - that was just right - and the heels and the hair. Oh, the hair. In such a long time that Sherlock didn't see Molly with her hair down. It looked good on her, with no pins or clips to hold it. Just curled and simple.

He was the one to quickly recover from his own reverie and offered his pathologist a smile, telling her she looked lovely - once again Molly had blushed spite the hardness in her eyes - and that they had to be quick to get to the pub in question, claiming they were already late for the meeting.

Sherlock had to be proud of her. Spite her fragile physic, he had always considered her strong - she did had helped him fake his death after all - and now she had done everything he and Lestrade had told her. She had looked nervous at some point but once she had sat down by the counter, his pathologist had gained some strength and even with the bartender she was chatting.

However, that irked him. How could she be talking with a stranger? How could she look so at ease? How could she become so protective of herself, so tense once he got into her sight range? Why couldn't she be like she was before Sherrinford?

Blue-green eyes jumped from Molly to go over the pub. He needed to keep his mind clear of those thoughts.

Sherlock checked his watch. An hour already had passed and there they were, still waiting. He checked his phone and the website where he had arranged the date. Nothing. The supposed man said he would be at the pub on the hour, but people could get late for some other reason.

The detective consultant frowned. He checked the traffic, the weather. There was nothing wrong for the man to be late.

For some reason, he wasn't going to show up.

Sherlock looked up and saw Molly. She had dressed up, she did look lovely, beautiful even. And there was no one approaching her.

 _"Except for that bartender. Was he getting frisky with our Molly, Sherlock?"_ Moriarty's voice sounded upset, almost pouty.

The detective consultant rolled his eyes. Was his theory wrong? Did he missed something? All three women were similar to Molly.

 _"In everything but one thing, Sherlock. Sometimes you see but do not observe."_ This time it was Mary Watson's voice that sounded.

 _"One thing?"_ Sherlock thought, reflected on those words, going over everything he had learned from those women and realisation struck. _"They weren't in love. Molly was. Is."_

Sherlock picked up his phone.

\- Lestrade, you can call everything off. He's not showing up. Molly has an early shift tomorrow. Apologies for the incovenience.

After Lestrade had said a few words, the detective consultant placed his phone on the pocket of his long coat and walked over to where Molly was.

\- Care to joing me for a drink? - He asked, sitting on the stool next to her.

\- Sherlock, you're ruining the plan. - Molly's whispered voice reached his ears.

\- He's not coming. - Was it sadness he saw cross her eyes as she looked down to her glass?

\- Your theory. - Molly's voice was softer now.

\- Must have missed something. I'll find another one. How about that drink?

\- You don't drink. Besides I have work tomorrow.

\- You've been drinking.

\- Orange juice. - She shook her glass, still not meeting his eyes.

\- You can stay a bit longer, Molly. - Sherlock eyes were still on her - to read, to deduce whatever she was thinking, feeling. He tried to sound soft, trying to ease the tension he suddenly felt. - We can talk. We should talk.

\- It's fine, Sherlock.

\- It's been long overdue. Molly... - He saw her slid off the stool and place her coat on. The detective consultant was starting to feel frustated towards her and her way of distancing herself from him. - I should walk you. You shouldn't be going home alone.

There was an odd look from Molly once she glanced his way - was it a blush forming on her cheeks? - but then she recovered and cleared her throat.

\- It's fine. I'll get a cab.

\- Molly...

\- Goodnight, Sherlock.

As quick as she could manage, Sherlock saw her leave. What was he supposed to do? Was he supposed to follow her? To stay?

She shouldn't be going home alone. He should follow her.

Once he reached the streets, he saw Molly get into the cab and the vehicle drive off.

Sherlock felt the hollow grow inside of him. Three months. He should have known better by now. No, not three months. This was nine years in the making. He had done this to himself.

 _"- I will burn the heart out of you."_

He narrowed his eyes at those words. He hated them. With all of his being. Next to Moriarty and Magnussen, those were the words he hated the most.

No! He couldn't let this be. He couldn't talk with John, or Mrs. Hudson, not even Lestrade. And not to think about his older brother. The one person he could actually talk about this kind of things - feelings, sentiments - was the one person that was currently doing her best to avoid all contact with him.

...

Sherlock knocked on Molly's flat door. He hadn't buzzed on her doorbell because he found a way - he always had. He knew if he had buzzed she wouldn't have opened it.

\- Molly, I know you're inside. Open the door. - He said in an almost commanding voice.

He heard faint footsteps - she had taken her heels off.

\- Go away, Sherlock. - There was a tremble in her voice - was she that upset? Had she already been crying? No, she wasn't sobbing or sniffing. There was only a tremble.

\- We need to talk. We need to clear things out. Please. I can not go the rest of my days knowing you don't trust me or that you wish I would be gone from your life.

\- You said you would do anything I would ask if I agreed with your plan. So, please do this for me... - He heard the tremble once again. - Leave me alone. Go away. Don't go to the lab when I'm working. Just... leave.

Sherlock closed his eyes, fisting his hands, leaning his forehead against the door. The pain he was hearing was the pain that made the hollow inside of him grow even more.

\- Alright. - He conceded. He would do anything for her. He owed her that. - I'll leave you alone, Molly Hooper. Just know this. - Sherlock took a deep breath, his voice remaining deep and quiet. - If there is anything you need, anything at all, you can have me.

Those words must have had some effect on his pathologist because he heard her gasp in the quiet hallway and a sob followed. The light went off in the apartment.

Sherlock listened for a few more seconds but she didn't opened the door. He gave up and was going down the stairs when he heard something break. His eyes went up, to Molly's flat. Something crashed and he run up the stairs.

\- Molly?! - The detective consultant knocked hard on the door. - Open the door!

There was something muffled and another crash. A glass broke.

Sherlock looked over the door as if he could look through it. Something was wrong. Something... The murderer.

\- Sherlock!

At Molly's voice - at her pained, high pitched voice - he bumped into the door. Hard. Over and over again.

\- Call the police! - He screamed at one of Molly's neighbours that came to see what was happening.

After a few good placed bumps, Sherlock opened the door and got inside the flat. It was dark but he managed to see where things were broken.

Walking slowly, he tried to listen to anything else.

Something, or better someone, lunched over him. There was a bit of a scuffle, a few good punches thrown and finally Sherlock knocked the man out.

Looking around the flat, Sherlock had to squint his eyes when the lights turned on and he saw Molly Hooper come out of her bedroom and a sigh of relief escaped his lips. His pathologist looked undamaged, with just a split lip and tored sweater.

\- I'm fine. - The tremble was no longer there, except for a tired, hurt tone in it's place.

Stepping closer to her, Sherlock saw that she stepped back from him once he got too close.

\- Don't touch me. Please. I don't think I would handle it.

Sherlock raised both his hands and nodded. It was the only thing he could do when all he wanted was to wrap his arms around her tiny, fragile frame and hold her. But he could comply with her wishes. It was the least he could do.

* * *

Why nine years? I'm guessing they know each other longer than only the more or less seven years we have on the show.

 **Reviews, please?**


	7. Chapter 7

Hi! Another chapter! Hope you enjoy it! This one is a bit on the angsty side... "Please forgive me" - see what I did there?

 ** _Info:_**

 _""+ italics_ = inner thoughts, mind palace

 _italics_ = scenes from the past

* * *

 **Chapter Seven: The mysterious pathologist**

\- What did those women had that made them so special? To make them a target?

Lestrade was doing his best. It wasn't good enough, though.

It had taken a few of the police force to prevent Sherlock to go inside the interrogation room and knock the man out again as he leered over the photographs of the women - Molly's included - the Detective Inspector had on the table.

\- How is Dr. Hooper?

Mycroft's voice sounded behind him and Sherlock turned to see his older brother - he had a hard expression on his face, harder than he was was used to.

\- What are you doing here, Mycroft? - The detective consultant looked curious and his eyes frowned. It wasn't like the British Governement to come to a police station in the middle of the day to look over a serial killer.

\- Anthea told me what happened. I do have a task force surveilling Dr. Hooper.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, stepping closer to his older brother.

\- And they missed a man, a strange man go inside Molly's building? Inside her apartment? - Sherlock hissed the words out, angry - no, furious at the careless of the task force regarding his Molly - yes, his Molly, get over it.

\- Careful, Sherlock. Sentiment is showing.

\- I do not care, Mycroft! We already know what happens when I repress my emotions. - Sherlock made a dramatic movement with his hand, turning away from him.

Mycroft merely stared at his brother. The tense stance as he looked over the glass to the murderer, the frown, the worry in his eyes, the fire that was simmering just under the surface - yes, his little brother always had been the most emotional of the three. And now, he was still dealing with the consequences of Sherrinford and it's trial. He looked different - not less rational, but more emotional, letting the sentiment run wild for everyone to see. Mycroft knew he had to help him get it under control or his enemies would take advantage of it.

\- You didn't answer my question, brother mine.

\- Why do you care? - Sherlock's voice sounded too quiet all of the sudden.

\- Because, spite everything that I am, I do care about the people that surround my brother and that he cares about. And Molly Hooper is one of them. I came to check on you and her, as well.

Sherlock looked over his shoulder to his older brother. There was something different about him. He too had come a different man from the island.

\- She's... I don't know how she is. - Mycroft sensed pain in his little brother voice. - She let the paramedics check on her and I know that John went to see her.

\- And you don't know how she is? - The British Governement frowned, leaning his head to the side, trying to understand what was wrong.

\- She told me to leave. She doesn't stand my company.

The look that his younger brother gave him, made Mycroft understand what he meant. The lovely pathologist didn't want his company since three months now. He knew that their sister would break Sherlock and that's why he had kept her a secret - and Eurus did it in the most painful way, by breaking his heart. And now... now everything was different and there was no going back. Should he help him fix things with his pathologist? Or should he just let them figure out things in their own peculiar way?

\- I'm sure you'll find a way to fix things, Sherlock. You always did.

\- Yes. Fake my death and kill Magnussen. That's how I fix things, is it not? - Sherlock gave a fake laugh as he remembered the past. - Should I die once more so that Molly Hooper comes to rescue me? - The detective consultant glanced his brother's way.

\- I'm sure you can find a less dramatic way to get her attention, brother mine.

...

Sherlock Holmes was about to open the door that led to the labs when said door opened and Molly Hooper crashed against him. His hands immediately went to her arms and steadied her. He felt her flinch and knew that he had grabbed her by the bruises she most likely had.

\- Sherlock! What are you doing here? - Molly immediately stepped away from his almost embrace, putting a considerable distance between them.

By the look of her eyes - glacing towards the door - Sherlock could see that Molly couldn't wait to leave the room. Or perhaps she just wanted to leave him. But then again she already had her coat on, so leaving St. Barts was the correct deduction.

\- I wanted to check on you. To see how you were doing after...

\- I'm fine.

\- Molly, we should talk. - The detective consultant gave her a half, hopeful smile.

\- I'm heading out. I'm late for an appointment.

There was something in the way that her eyes fled from his gaze that told him that she was lying or, at least, hiding the truth. She went out the door before he could utter a word. What the hell was happening? Molly never lied to him, never hid things from him, for as much angry as she was. Why was it so difficult to deduce her these days?

\- What is it so important that prevents you from salvaging a friendship? - Sherlock let out those words so harshly, without even thinking about them.

Molly stopped and turned. Oh, she was capable of knocking him down. Yes! Emotion, that was good. That was always good when it came to Molly Hooper.

\- My sanity, Sherlock! I'm putting my sanity and my heart ahead of you. No, Sherlock. - The pathologist held a finger to stop whatever he was going to say as he approached her. - You don't get to to have the last word. Too many times you had the last word. No more. - Besides the first time she had slapped him, Sherlock had never seen her with such fire and fury inside of her. - Please, can you just do something that I asked? - The tone hinted for an almost begging.

Without waiting for a reply, Molly turned around and left his sights.

Frustrated, angry and curious, without even letting two minutes pass, Sherlock Holmes was leaving St. Barts.

Once he was outside, he saw Molly pick up her phone as she walked through the streets of London.

Fifteen minutes later, Molly - and Sherlock - arrived at a building.

" _A dance studio?_ " The detective consultant frowned. He didn't know Molly liked dancing. Or muffins, for that matter. He just realized he didn't know a lot about her. He just knew enough to get what he wanted from her. He merely deduced that she was only visiting a friend or perhaps watch someone, a performance.

However, Sherlock was curious - too bloody curious, she did say she had an appointment, not a dance lesson - so he decided to enter.

As he walked through the corridors, he could hear music and giggling once a girl or two saw him. Suddenly, he heard that laugh - that carefree, happy, warm laugh - that he didn't know Molly was capable of.

Sherlock hid in the shadows of the dark corridor, seeing the person that Molly was talking to leave her alone and he waited to see if his pathologist would exit the room as well.

When she didn't, he approached the small porthole of the door and watched Molly dim the lights a bit, her body covered with tight shorts and tight top, her body in full display with dance sneakers on her feet. He never seen her that exposed - except for that Christmas, with that black dress and his mean attitude - and that did something to him, something he didn't understand.

The echo of the electronic music reached his ears and he watched as she assumed position and started to move.

" _Ain't that a surprise? She never told me about this._ " Moriarty's voice sounded amazed.

" _Me neither. How could I never knew about this?_ "

" _My dear Sherlock, you are so blind towards the simple things of life. But you are learning._ " Mary's voice sounded soft and happy, somehow in his mind palace.

At some point, Molly twirled with full force, jumping, never missing a beat of the drums or rhythm of the music, her brown eyes serious, passionate. It was as if the fire he had seen earlier had come to life inside of her.

Sherlock was fascinated by the lighteness that surrounded his pathologist, her features, her movements. She looked so at ease with the music and the dance. He had never seen her like that - except when she performed an autopsy. But this was different. It was like a completely different Molly from the one he had come to know over the years - how did he never knew about this? About her obvious passion for dancing?

Suddenly, for a moment, Sherlock imagined her moving at the sound of the tune he had composed only a few days ago.

Molly was now going on a faster rhythm and Sherlock was mesmorized by it. She was exquisite, nothing to do with the nervous, petite woman he had met years ago.

The music stopped and in a twirl and a dramatic move, Molly fell to the ground, breathing heavily.

In a transe, Sherlock opened the door and stepped closer to her quietly. He could see she had her eyes closed.

\- Molly. - His eyes were on her form.

Sherlock could tell the exact moment she tensed. He could see the moment everything changed in her body - now in full display for him to watch the complete transformation from relaxed to tense from when he enters the room or when he speaks when she does not yet sees him these last few weeks.

Slowly, he saw Molly sat up and lock her - angry, furious, beautiful, brown - eyes on him.

\- What are you doing here? - The detective consultant took a step closer and kneeled in front of her. As a reaction, Molly slid back, her knees to her chest, her eyes narrowed. - Are you following me now?

\- I had to know.

\- Is your ego that big? - Her voice trembled, furious. - No, wait. Don't answer that. Of course it is. - Sherlock frowned. - Why can't you just leave me be?

\- We're friends, Molly. - He saw a flicker of sadness went over her eyes as she glanced away. - I just wanted to make sure you were okay.

\- I'm leaving, Sherlock. I'm leaving London. - Molly watched his face turn hard at her words and it was her turn to see the flicker of something in his blue-green eyes. - I'm leaving England.

\- Why? - His voice was quiet and deep.

\- Why?! - She gave a fake laugh, her arms holding her knees as if protecting herself. - I'm tired. I'm tired of this, of being angry, of being hurt and in pain. I need to move on... - The pathologist looked up. - From you and I can't do that if you keep showing up at my flat or at the lab... Even here, my safe place. You had to ruin it.

Sherlock merely stared at her.

\- Molly...

\- No, Sherlock. - Molly stood as did Sherlock, wanting nothing else but to step closer - and hold her, perhaps. - John can take it, Mary could take it, I can't. I'm not strong enough. I was a plaything for Moriarty because of you. I was a plaything for your sister, because of you. I can't take it anymore.

\- Moriarty is dead. And Eurus won't hurt you anymore.

\- You don't see, do you? - A few tears fell Molly's cheek. - I'm a plaything for you as well. Like you said, an experiment. You don't love me, you're not capable of love, but you keep doing this to me, showing up, asking for my help, when you know what it does to me. Being looked at and not being seen at all.

\- I do see you, Molly. Please...

\- No! You don't! - A sob left her chest and she cursed herself for feeling weak in front of him. - And that's why I'm leaving. - Molly walked over to where her things were and picked them up, meaning to leave the room.

Sherlock barely managed to step out of his stupor and grab her arm, which she managed to avoid - there were times where she wished he would have hold her, he would have touched her... Now wasn't one of those times, she couldn't stand being touched by him.

\- Please... - Molly begged. - Don't... Don't follow me. I'm asking you. I don't want to be near you, Sherlock.

Molly avoided his eyes stepping away from him and leaving the room with tears in her eyes.

* * *

 ***Molly Dance Music:** Epic Pop - "(I just) Died In Your Arms" by Hidden Citizens (Epic Trailer Version) - It's a great song, you should hear it. The first moment I heard this song, it was like seeing Molly and Sherlock and is one of my inspirations for this fic.

 **Reviews, please?**


	8. Chapter 8

Hi! I'm so sorry for the delay on this next chapter but this month was chaotic, it always is. So, here is another chapter and to compensate I'll try to post another one by the weekend.

Hope you enjoy this one !

 ** _Info:_**

 _""+ italics_ = inner thoughts, mind palace

 _italics_ = scenes from the past

* * *

 **Chapter Eight: The rational hollow**

After Molly had left - his Molly, his mind kept reminding him - Sherlock had just stood there in the empty room, surrounded by mirrors. His blue-green eyes went over them as if trying to see what his friends - what Molly, John, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson saw.

He couldn't place it. He couldn't figure out why they had stuck with him for so many years - with him being always so obnoxious all the time, not even him would stand someone like it. And Molly was right. Moriarty had played with her because of him, Eurus had chosen her to break him - to break both of them.

" _I told you I would burn your heart out._ " Moriarty's voice sounded.

" _She's innocent. She didn't deserve what you did to her._ "

" _She was a game, Sherlock. I really enjoyed it. Enjoyed her. She's so sweet. But she's not innocent. She helped you. She gave you body parts, she broke the rules._ "

" _She likes my experiments._ " Sherlock voice sounded like a whine.

" _She likes the fake attention you gave her. Or liked. I don't think she likes you anymore, my dear Sherlock."_ James Moriarty voice sounded childish. " _Poor, poor baby._ "

" _Be quiet, Moriarty._ " Mary's voice muffled the other. " _You have to figure it out, Sherlock. Or you will lose her. Don't let her go._ "

" _She deserves better. I can't make her stay, Mary._ "

" _Give her a reason to stay._ "

" _She is better off without me._ "

Mary narrowed her eyes with a soft smile on her lips.

" _You don't really believe that, don't you, Sherlock Holmes?_ "

The images of angel and devil disappeared and a thin, pale man looked at him through the mirror. He looked... Sad? He didn't know if that was the right word, but that was how he felt.

The detective consultant walked throughout London, not paying much attention to people, not taking a cab back to Baker Street. He just wanted to be alone and think of what his next step would be.

Sherlock Holmes would figure it out.

...

When Molly arrived at the lab early morning, she knew her day was not going to be one of the good ones - after a night of crying herself to sleep, she felt renewed, even if melancholic.

However, she just had that tingling sensation, a sixth sense you might call it, that something was about to happen. And, right now, perched on a stool, with his crossed feet on the lab table, and magnificent as ever in his dark suit - that popped his blue eyes, Molly realized - was Sherlock Holmes.

The pathologist really thought that he would honor her request, that she would have a bit of a rest before the annoying detective consultant came rushing to the lab because he needed something from St. Bart's Hospital.

\- Morning. - He said in a more deeper - almost sleepy? - tone of voice.

\- What are you doing here so early, Sherlock? - Molly didn't look at him as she placed her bag on one of the desks. - I thought I asked you...

\- I know what you asked for. - Sherlock interrupted her in the same tone of voice, not acknowledging the fact of her lack of not saying morning back, like she would usually do.

From the moment Molly Hooper had walked into the dark lab, the detective consultant eyes had landed on the pathologist, fully analysing her and making sure she knew what he was doing.

And Molly was fully aware of his too blue eyes on her and it was unsettling her.

\- Don't do that. - She said in a harsh tone, angry, her brown eyes finding his at last.

Sherlock leaned his head to the side.

\- Stop... You're analysing me.

\- It's the only way I have to know what you are thinking, to know what is wrong with you.

\- Why do you think there is something wrong with me?

\- After last night... After the past three months... I came to the conclusion that you were avoiding me. I knew it was because of what happened, what I made you say. - Sherlock stated, seeing her flinch at his words. He took his feet off the table and stepped closer to her, slowly.

Immediately, she backed away from him, bumping slightly against the desk she had just put her things on.

\- Don't do that, Molly. - The pathologist brown eyes narrowed at his tone of command. - Why do you do that? I know you are leaving, you made it perfectly clear last night but I want to know. I want to know why now. Why didn't you leave after what Moriarty did? Why did you waited three months to leave? To tell me?

The detective consultant read the pathologist expressions, her breathing, the change in her eyes, the color on her cheeks. It was not from embarrassment or fear or because she was nervous. No, it was none of those. She was blushing because of who she was, and what he meant for her.

\- I need distance.

\- Distance? I gave you time to process what happened. I waited for you to come talk to me, if you wanted any further explanation to what had happened that day. I would think you would be a bit more rational than this, Molly.

\- Rational?! I'm not rational, Sherlock! Not like you, not in what concerns you! - Molly said in a myriad of words that would be hard to understand for the common mind, but not for Sherlock Holmes.

\- Molly...

The pathologist rose her hand to stop him and he did so.

\- I can't think of anything but those words. Your voice saying them. You just... you were so careless with them when you came to talk to me... - Molly looked up to where Sherlock stood, without movement, his ice blue eyes on her. - And I am verily certain that you are just here because you're afraid that the next pathologist won't give into your every whim, Sherlock. - Her voice faltered. - And that's my fault, I shouldn't have let you do whatever you wanted with this place.

\- With you. - Sherlock finally spoke, the words coming out of his mouth without thinking. He took another step. What was he thinking? What was he doing?

He saw his pathologist head turn from him, a single tear fall to her cheek and he narrowed his eyes. He was so close to her now that all it took was for his long fingers to reach out - his hand was hitching to touch her.

\- Don't. - Molly said in a small voice, prediciting his thoughts. It was done so quietly, he wondered if he heard it right.

The pain in her eyes told him, his touch, his way of comforting would not be comforting at all.

Sherlock merely nodded and walked away. As he reached the door, he turned back to look at her only to be met by watery brown eyes and something he could not place. Something - the hollow - was finally snapping inside of him.

\- I am really sorry that I caused you pain, Molly Hooper. It was not my intention and I hate that what happened had caused this rift between us. After all, you are the person that matters the most.

With that, Sherlock left the room, knowing his words would reverberate on Molly. And he did hope so. He couldn't bare to lose one of his friends. It was so hard for him to make good ones, to make friends that would put up with him and his temper. And she was right, whoever Mike Stamford would place in her instead wouldn't be so willing to help him and his experiments.

Suddenly, the ground trembled.

Sherlock looked up and around, he saw people running from the hospital. His eyes narrowed and his heart fell when he saw the fire in one of St. Bart's wings.

* * *

 **Reviews, please?**


	9. Chapter 9

Hi! I know, I know, I should have posted this on Sunday, but real life... what shall I do?

So, a little warning... I don't know if I'll be able to post for the next few days, so this chapter is a bit bigger to reward your patience. Thank you all for all your support!

Enjoy this chapter!

 ** _Info:_**

 _""+ italics_ = inner thoughts, mind palace

 _italics_ = scenes from the past

* * *

 **Chapter Nine: Orders and Deductions**

\- Molly! Molly Hooper!

She heard him. Somehow. Her head was hurting badly. She tried to pick up her hand and when she did, she felt tired... So tired. Was it her or she couldn't move her legs? Why was the room foggy and smelled like smoke?

\- MOLLY?!

\- Sher...

The detective consultant got to the examinations room in the basement of St. Barts, the doors obstructed. He looked over the window as many times he had done over the years before he interrupted Molly during an examination of a body.

Immediately, he spotted his pathologist's body under some of the rubble and she wasn't moving.

His brain was on overload. Who had done this? Who had been so... such a psycopath to dare hurt Molly? His Molly?

\- I'm here! If you can hear me, Molly, don't fall asleep! - Sherlock saw her head moving as if she had heard him and he smiled - at least she was moving - but the anxiousness didn't leave him, it was clawing his heart.

The firemen couldn't get there fast enough and he kept talking, seeing her nod at times and the moment he had the door cleared, Sherlock sprinted into the room without caring with his own safety.

\- I'm here, Molly. - The detective consultant spoke softly, looking for the first time at a ragged, dirty Molly, coffing at the smoke, her bright brown eyes barely in focus.

\- I know... Sherlock. - It was her last words before losing consciousness.

...

Her body hurt all over. What had happened? There was this beeping sound... So annoying - in her head, she sounded almost like him.

Her eyes opened slowly and painfully. There was something down her throat.

She was in the hospital. Some images flashed into her mind and she remembered hearing an explosion and something falling on top of her. Bart's have been attacked. By who? Her breathing made the machine beep harder.

Something - or rather someone - caught Molly's eyes and she looked to the side. What she saw was unexpected. Sherlock Holmes was sleeping on a chair next to her bed.

\- He refused to leave, you know?

John Watson stood by the door as if he had just entered and Molly nodded slightly, a smile reaching her eyes.

A nurse appeared in the room, called by the machine alarm and helped Molly with the tube.

\- There you go, dear. No forcing your throat for now. I'll call the doctor as soon he exists the surgery he's in.

Molly nodded at the nurse and saw her leave the room.

\- How are you feeling, Molls? - John stood on the side of the bed, looking softly at his friend.

\- Better... - The pathologist voice came out quiet and hoarse. She nodded at Sherlock.

\- He managed to... persuade the nurses to stay here. You've been out for three days and he hasn't left. I think he even called Mycroft so he could ordered them around. - John Watson joked, however with a glint of concern in his eyes. - You frightened him, Molly. I don't think I ever seen him frightened.

\- I did. - She said softly, gulping to relaxe her throat. At John's questioning look she went further. - The day he died.

With those words, John nodded and understood.

Movement alerted them that the detective consultant was rousing and immediately he had fixed his eyes on the pathologist - his pathologist - with his blue-green eyes. A smile, a real smile of relief, appeared on his lips as he jumped from the chair and neared the bed. His hands stopped like he was nervous to touch her, or even he didn't know what to do with them.

\- You're awake.

\- I am.

\- For a while now, Sherlock. - John concluded as if that was some kind of an inside joke for them since the high-function sociopath rolled his eyes at his friend.

\- How are you feeling? - Sherlock completely ignoring his friend now who left, knowing both needed a moment.

\- Okay. Body hurts.

\- Naturally. Your body is recovering from it's injuries. You had a concussion, you have a sprained ankle and a few bruises from some particulates of the explosion.

The pathologist nodded, her brain still foggy but assesing all of her pained parts on her body.

\- You're staying with me untill you are fully recovered. - Molly suddenly heard and frowned at Sherlock.

\- What? I have a very good flat to go to.

\- That's an order, Molly Hooper.

\- Well, Sherlock Holmes, you don't order me around as you very well know.

Sherlock actually smiled at her words. He could see that it was making color go back to her cheeks as well as her eyes, making them brighter.

\- It will be easier this way. You have no one to help you at your flat and I can keep an eye on you.

\- Sherlock...

\- It's decided, Molly. - There it was the commanding tone once again. The pathologist just stared at him, not knowing what to say since what he was saying was the logical decision she should make.

\- Sherlock... You can't keep me here. - Molly said, looking pointedly at him, as if saying something more with her own words. - I made my...

\- The hell I can't, Molly! - That startled the woman. - You're injured, you are not going anywhere for the next couple of months. I'm sure Westbrooke will understand your situation.

Molly looked down, remembering those 24 hours before the explosion. She nodded not sparing a glance at Sherlock.

\- It's decided then. - The detective consultant said too quietly.

Slowly, he walked out the room, knowing that Molly needed her space for the moment.

...

\- How is the case going? - Mycroft had entered the flat early morning while Sherlock was analysing something in his microscope.

\- The fake suicides and the bombing are connected. The bomb had that man fingerprints all over it.

\- So there is an accomplice.

\- Mhmm... - It was Sherlock's only answer.

Mycroft nodded, staring intently at his younger brother.

\- How is Dr. Hooper?

\- Sleeping.

\- You know that's not what I meant.

Sherlock looked up at his older brother with an annoyed look.

\- She's feeling better, the bruises are disappearing.

\- I take it she's sleeping in your bedroom. - Mycroft Holmes glanced at the end of the hallway to the closed door, his tone of voice hinting at some hidden meaning.

Sherlock raised his brow with a bored look.

\- It was the logical place for her to sleep and be comfortable.

\- What about you, brother mine? I gather that taking care of a case while sleeping on the sofa is not good for your back.

\- You know I don't sleep while on a case, Mycroft.

The British Government neared the case at hand.

\- Do you think this is wise? Having her here, keeping her from the decisions she made a few weeks ago.

\- You knew? - The detective consultant frowned just slightly, making Mycroft know he had hit a nerve.

\- Of course I knew, brother mine. Who would I be if I didn't know that one of my brother's oldest friends was deciding on leaving him? I was certain Dr. Hooper wouldn't keep you too long out of it.

Sherlock hit the table with his fist.

\- You should have warned me, Mycroft.

\- Warn you? For what, my dear brother? She made a decision, a decision that benefits her in terms of safety, acommodations, money, knowledge. Emotionally.

The detective consultant stood looking at his older brother in the eye.

\- I know I made a lot of mistakes in what concerns Molly Hooper, but I am trying.

\- You are not capable of love, brother mine. - Mycroft said in a soft tone, somehow understanding the underlying sadness that was currently friends with his brother.

\- I am. I'm going to show it to her. I'm going to show to everyone what I'm capable of.

\- What if you keep hurting her? What if you get a case and you will get her hurt? You have more and more enemies, Sherlock.

\- I won't hurt her. She will never get hurt by me or because of me. Ever again.

There was something in his brother's eyes that made Mycroft frown and relaxe at the same time. Words were beautiful when said in the right way, but when said with the truth and conviction, anything was possible.

\- I hope to see that. - With that, Mycroft exited the Baker Street flat.

...

At some point of the day, Sherlock looked over at Molly.

The pathologist was on the sofa, reading a book. One of his and not one she had brought from her flat a couple of weeks ago.

She had her wounded leg stretched out and she looked deep in thought, with an almost dream like glow around her.

He frowned when she did. Something in the book was making her think.

With an uncouscious curiosity, the detective consultant stood and walked over to her, sitting on the opposite side, picking up her wounded leg carefully and placed it on his lap.

Molly looked up at him with a curious look on her face. She tried to take her leg from his hold but he didn't budge.

\- What is it, Sherlock?

-Why can't I hold your leg?

The pathologist blushed. She looked away trying to find a suitable answer.

\- I... It's awkward?

\- It is not awkward to me. Why is it for you?

Molly was stunned with his answer and she tried to read something more on Sherlock's face. A lie, perhaps. But he was so curious and surprised with her words that she couldn't understand his sudden interest. She simply couldn't understand this new Sherlock that had been taking care of her for the last month.

\- I talked with Mathias...

\- You are not going anywhere, Molly. - He sounded annoyed and she watched him pick up the book she had just been reading.

She was quiet for a few minutes, just watching him.

\- I know what you're doing.

Sherlock didn't look at her, just kept reading. Molly, on the other side, just kept her eyes on him. His face changed a bit once he realized she was observing him.

\- Molly...

\- I'm going to leave. Eventually. When I'm better.

\- No.

\- Why not, Sherlock? Look at me.

Sherlock did look at her with an odd, observing look.

\- Who would bomb St. Barts? Someone that knew you were going there. Whoever it is, was trying to get to you, Sherlock, and in consequence, it got to me. What if they are trying to keep you here, with me, to do something bigger? You should be out there, finding them, stopping them. Not here, with me. I shouldn't be here.

\- Molly, you are getting of topic. You're not leaving London and that is final. What would I do with an incompetent pathologist anyway?

Molly looked at him. Slowly, she moved her leg and sat next to him. As if on cue, his arm rose over her shoulders and Sherlock pulled her closer, gently against his side.

\- What about me? Doesn't my wellbeing concerns you?

\- Molly...

\- Deduce me. - She looked up at him.

\- I don't understand.

\- Deduce me. Have you ever done that?

\- Of course I did.

\- No, you didn't. That's why you didn't understand that Christmas gift was for you. That's why you never understand what you always did to me. What you mean to me.

\- I do now.

\- Now...? - Molly gave a fake laugh and changed her position, placing some distance in between them. - Don't you understand how we became friends? We're similar. I'm nothing like you, but I am smart and capable.

\- Never said you weren't.

\- I was the odd girl in the playground. I could have been a doctor like John, but I chose to take care of the dead. I always thought they talked more to me than real people. At least, I wasn't judged.

\- I never judged you, Molly. - The detective consultant looked at her with an outraged look.

\- That's... Sherlock, it's not the point. The point here is that I deduced you before you did it to me, and even knowing I would never get a chance with you, I have fallen for you. So hard. And you were always so mean until a few years ago. But even then... - Molly closed her lips, not wanting her emotions to overflow, at the memory of Irene Adler and how Sherlock immediately was overtaken by the dominatrix. She looked away from the detective consultant. - It doesn't matter now, Sherlock. Once you finish this case, once I'm better, I'm leaving. - The pathologist ended with sigh.

The silence became their company for a long moment.

\- I'm sorry, Molly Hooper. Forgive me. - Sherlock's baritone voice sounded in the darkened room.

Molly looked at him, the words reverberating on her like an old memory.

\- I already did, Sherlock. Whatever I've said or done, that is only the pain and hurt that's been keeping me company for years.

They looked at each other for a brief moment, before Molly closed her eyes, tired.

Not a full minute had passed and she slid a hand to the detective's chest and placed it on top of his heart, while her head was placed on his shoulder.

Sherlock tensed and then relaxed.

\- I never said thank you. - Molly said so softly, he wondered if he heard it right.

\- For what? - He asked in the same way.

\- For saving me. From Eurus. I know it hurt you saying those words. I could see it in yours eyes when you came to explain it to me. And I said thank you for it, but I never said thank you for saving me. So... thank you, Sherlock. - Molly ended with a barely pained voice and snuggled further against him, feeling his arm fall around her - she felt protected, safe, warm. She could feel his rapid beating heart under his shirt and with the drum of it, she fell asleep, unware of what Sherlock's mind was going through.

\- Please do stay in London. I'll get out of your way. - Sherlock said so quietly, his hold tightening so softly, that no one could ever guess what had just been uttered.

* * *

 **Wow! I had this written and re-written so many times. A bit of angst never hurt anyone, did it?**

 **Reviews, please?**


	10. Chapter 10

Hi!

I am so sorry for the delay and for not posting for three months. Real life came at me and I couldn't do anything and my laptop went poof! But now, I am back - I hope - and I'll finish this fanfic. It's almost at an end, though it's been very hard to do it - writer's block!

So bear with me, okay?

Hope you enjoy this one!

 ** _Info:_**

 _""+ italics_ = inner thoughts, mind palace

 _italics_ = scenes from the past

* * *

 **Chapter Ten: Long lost memories**

\- Dr. Hooper.

\- Mathias... Hi! What are you doing here? - Molly looked at the corporate suit dressed man with a trenchcoat currently stationed in front of the 221B Baker Street door. She was surprised, as if she had forgotten about him over the past three weeks of recovery. And it wasn't like he had stayed in touch.

-The hospital told me where you were staying after the bombing. I came as soon as I landed. - The man sighed, looking at her with a soft expression. - It took me this long to connect with you because a few problems I had to deal with.

Molly smiled even if in an embarrassed manner. She was in her pajamas and robe after all. She not even thought about it until the moment she opened the front door. Being at Baker Street - even if dealing with Sherlock's temper - made her feel relaxed and safe.

\- Well, thank you. You shouldn't have bothered, Mathias. I am fine and almost recovered. Just a few aches left.

\- Nonsense. - Mathias waved his hand. - You are going to be one of my employees. We can't wait to have you in Boston. I'm sure your mother and father would have been proud of this achievement of yours.

There was something in Mathias tone that made Molly uncomfortable and stiffen her back as if in alert.

\- Yes. My father would have been. My mother... I wouldn't know, really. I haven't seen her in years.

The pathologist frowned at her own words. What made her say that? Not even Sherlock knew about that fact, although he already could have deduced it.

\- I'm sorry to hear that. - Mathias stepped forward and took the pathologist hands in his own. - I'm sure, wherever she is, she thinks of you and misses you.

Molly frowned at the intense, serious look on the man's face.

\- Sure. You're probably right. - The petite woman slowly took her hands from Mathias, even more tense now. - I... if you excuse me... My leg is hurting and I have to lay down for a bit.

\- Of course, my dear Molly. - The suited man stepped away but that odd look stayed.

\- Thank you for your visit, Mathias. It meant a lot.

With a brief nod and smile, Mathias left the 221B threshold.

Feeling a shiver go up her spine, Molly closed the door immediately, her mind wondering about the man's words. It was true she haven't heard or seen her mother since she was 6 years old. And it was so out of character of Mathias to say something like that when she never said anything about her parents in their brief meetings over the previous months.

Suddenly, coming from the upper flat, the pathologist heard a few notes from Sherlock's violin. She smiled and slowly walked up the stairs minding her wounded leg.

Much calmer when her brown eyes landed on the detective consultant, Molly entered the main room. She watched Sherlock play his violin for a few minutes, until he stopped.

\- It's a beautiful tune. - She said in a soft voice.

Sherlock merely looked at her, a smile ghosting his lips. She loved that small smile he gave her at times. More and more in these last few days.

\- Can I hear more? - The pathologist sat on John's chair, wrapping her robe tightly around her.

Without a word, Sherlock placed his violin in position and continued to play. He could sense Molly observing him while he played her tune - would she stay in London if she knew that was for her?

She relaxed, closing her eyes. Her memories going for when she was a child, when she was happy with her father and her mother.

Something - maybe the tune, maybe a movement of Sherlock's arm as he played - made her remember something. Something buried deep in her childhood, stories her father had told her over the years, so she would know when the time would come, she would know how to protect herself.

Suddenly, a gasp coming from her made Sherlock stop and the detective consultant looked back at her with a curious look.

\- Something wrong? - He looked concerned when he approached her and kneeled in front of the chair.

Molly had her face hidden in her hands and looked like she was sobbing.

\- Molly, look at me.

She shook her head, breathing heavy.

\- Please? - Sherlock asked softly, concerned.

Only after a few seconds, did she lowered her hands and looked over at him, her breathing still anxious.

\- Tell me.

\- Your music. Sherlock...

Something made a connection in Molly's brain and she started to tremble.

Sherlock frowned and caught her hands.

\- Calm down. You're having a panic attack. - Slowly, he started to rub her cold hands.

\- No...

\- Molly Hooper, calm down. - The detective consultant said in a more dominant tone.

There was something in his voice that made Molly start to breath eavenvly and looked back at Sherlock.

\- You really think there is something connecting the murders? Because they look like me?

He only nodded, recalling their talk about the women similarities to his pathologist.

\- The bombing?

He nodded again.

\- But why? I'm no one.

\- Molly...

\- It's true.

\- No, it's not. You are important. To me. - He kept rubbing her hands, warming them as they had fallen cold at her saddened spirit.

\- Do you think...?

\- What?

\- I never told you my story. You never asked.

Sherlock looked confused and at the same time he knew it to be true. He never wandered where she had come, who her family was. She had spoken about her father once but only briefly.

\- Tell me your story, Molly Hooper.

The pathologist took a deep breath.

\- I don't remember much. I remember I loved my mother. I remember my father telling me when I made eighteen that my mother belonged to an organization, a criminal one. It had become too dangerous for me and him to stay near her. And he didn't like what she was becoming. So, he decided to leave and take me with him. I told you once my father was a sad man, Sherlock. - Molly's brown eyes glanced in the detective way. - He was sad because he lost his family without being able to do anything. He died with a broken heart.

For a moment there was silence between them, nothing was heard except for the cars outside the windows.

\- Do you think it can be it? My mother's organization finally coming after me? Doing these things, since they all look like me? Do you think it's a message? Do you think they have found me after almost thirty years?

With his clear blue eyes, Sherlock was observing everything about Molly, her frowned look, her sad eyes, her trembling hands.

\- Sherlock? - Molly leaned her head to the side, not understanding his silence and his stare.

\- With your story, I mostly certaintly think so now.

\- I shouldn't be here. They will come after you, then. They probably know I'm here.

\- You're safe here, Molly.

\- No!

\- I can protect you.

\- No! - The pathologist stood, making Sherlock stumble backwards for a moment.

Sherlock had never seen her like that. That was not his Molly, his controlled, rational, loving Molly. This was full emotional Molly, that he never seen, spite all the odds.

\- Molly...

\- Don't stop me, Sherlock. - She was already limping over to his bedroom to gather her things.

\- The melody... - The detective consultant saw her turn slightly at his words. - The melody you just heard... It's about you. Us. - Sherlock ended, walking towards her.

His pathologist turned to him.

\- Why?

\- Because you count, Molly Hooper. - Sherlock stood before her, looking down at sad and stunned eyes. - I told you once, you are the most important person.

Brown eyes looked upon blue ones, trying to see any deceit.

\- You're saing the truth.

\- Why would I lie, Molly? I never lied to you.

\- You did.

\- I deceited. I didn't lie. And all of my deceits had truth in them, even if at the time they were mean to you.

Molly looked down. How could she not notice he had joined their hands? Something deep settled inside her heart and suddenly she stepped away from Sherlock and that feeling.

The detective consultant sighed as he looked at his Molly.

\- What are you doing, Molly? - He took a step closer. And she took one step back. - Don't...

\- I need distance. - She said in a blur.

\- From me?

\- Who else?

\- Molly...

\- You hurted me. You deceived me. - Tears were threatening to fall. - I can't. Not now. Not with what is happening.

Sherlock leaned his head to the side, not understanding. There was something in her look that made him question if she was telling the all truth. Molly wasn't one to hide things.

\- Molly... I am sorry. You have to believe in me.

\- I don't need your sorry, Sherlock. I need to leave. I'm not putting you in danger.

\- No. That is out of the question.

\- Sherlock, you're not the boss of me! - Molly took a deep breath. - Perhaps if I can find a way to talk, to reason with him... - As soon at the words were blurted out, Molly bit her lip.

\- Him? Who's him, Molly? - Sherlock took a step closer, with a frowned look.

\- Mathias. - She ended up saying. - He belongs to the organization. At least, his company does.

\- He's in on the bombing?

\- He probably doesn't know.

\- Don't be naive, Molly!

\- Don't talk to me like that, Sherlock! I'm not a child!

\- You look like one. You want to walk right into danger! I won't let you get near that man again! It was enough seeing you with Moriarty and now him. - Sherlock took a step closer and she took a step back, but before she knew it, he had taken a longer stride and his hands had clasped around her arms and his raging blue eyes were looking directly at hers, full with emotion. - I'm not going to lose you, Molly Hooper.

With that, he pressed his lips to hers.

* * *

Molly couldn't sleep. Not after that kiss. What had gotten into Sherlock's head? And leaving afterwards, leaving her alone and stunned. His eyes had told her everything, how confused he had been for his own action. An action he hadn't foreseen or planned.

A sigh came out of the pathologist lips.

After a moment, she got up and got dressed, wincing a bit because of her wounded leg.

Quietly, to not make any sound, Molly stepped onto the hallway and looked over. Sherlock was laying face down on the sofa - did he fell asleep? So odd.

A smile came to the pathologist lips and slowly she covered him with a blanket. He moved in his sleep but didn't woke up.

Molly was tempted to kiss him in that moment but restrained herself.

\- Bye, Sherlock. - She whispered, walking out of the 221B and into the quiet streets of London with a heavy heart.

* * *

\- Good evening, Molly Hooper. Or should I say morning? - A voice sounded in the dark with a mocking tone.

The pathologist closed her apartment door and looked over to the shadow of the man she came to trust over the previous months. She had a determined look on her face, not even considering the fact that he had actually broken into her place.

\- So, I was right. - Molly's voice sounded anxious and at awe at the fact.

\- My words got the intended effect since you left the cozy and protected Baker Street.

Mathias turned the lights on and stood from Molly's bumpy sofa.

\- It's very curious, you know? I worked so close to James Moriarty and never ocurred to me to ask for his help to find you and your father.

\- You worked with Moriarty? Did you know what he did to me?! - Molly didn't want to show how affected that acknowledge affected her.

\- Yes. I know everything. I know everything that happened in your life the moment I found you. But most of all I know everything about your little adventures with Sherlock Holmes, my dear Molly. Or should I call, my little Delilah?

\- I forgot that name long ago. - The pathologist slowly looked up as the man approached her.

\- Because your father made you to. You shouldn't have left the organization. Your Mother's organization. - Mathias stepped even closer. - You should have endured the pain with me! - The man finally shouted.

The pathologist trembled. Every fiber in her body was afraid.

\- Too bad your boyfriend didn't followed you. - For a moment, Mathias looked lost in thought as he stared into Molly's brown eyes. - He loved him, you know? James had a special obsession over him. It was quite endearing. Almost boyfriend like.

\- Moriaty is dead. He thought he could beat Sherlock but he couldn't and neither will you, Mathias. - Molly sounded bolder than she felt. She would protect Sherlock from that man, even if it was the last thing she would do.

\- Are you that certain, my dear beloved? - A dangerous glint went through the man's eyes. - I know his weakness, after all.

\- I'm not your beloved, Mathias! - Molly pushed the man from her personal space. - And you will not touch Sherlock!

\- We'll see about that.

A wicked smiled was the last thing that Molly Hooper saw. Out of nowhere an arm wrapped around the pathologist's small frame and a hand smothered her scream as she fell into a dreamless state.

* * *

 **Reviews, please?**


	11. Chapter 11

Hello! Thank you all for your reviews!

First I will adress some of them: for those of you that like quotation marks - I don't use quotation marks for dialogues. If you read a book, at least in my country, we don't use them, we use a hyphen to start a dialogue - so I write it as I would write a book. For me, quotation marks are inner thoughts; regarding proper punctuation, I think I'm pretty good at it, especially since I'm not english born. If you can't get pass that and read a good story, it's your loss, I'm not going to stop writing it, just because I don't write it the way you like it.

For the rest of you, I hope you like the next chapter. Word of warning, time leaps ahead.

 _Info:_

 _""+ italics_ = inner thoughts, mind palace

 _italics_ = scenes from the past

* * *

 **Chapter Eleven: Pressure Point**

Sherlock woke up and frowned when he saw he was wrapped in a blanket. How could he have fallen asleep when Molly's life was at stake?

Slowly, his back stretching, the detective consultant stood and walked over to his bedroom. He wanted to do something, surprise her - perhaps slip into bed, maybe she would be willing to continue that kiss?

As he opened the door, Sherlock immediately knew something was wrong.

* * *

\- It's been five months, John! I'm going insane!

John Watson rolled his eyes at his dramatic friend as he watched him go up the stairs to his flat as he kept rambling after they had just closed a case. It was the only way Sherlock and him had to keep their mind off Molly Hooper. But today the subject that didn't left them alone. Mathias Westbrook had been in the papers because of some sort of deal he had made.

\- Do you think she's okay?

The doctor had just reached the entrance of the flat when Sherlock turned to him and asked it in the most quiet voice - he even would say, the saddest voice his best friend had ever uttered.

\- You have to believe it, Sherlock.

\- Do you? - Sherlock sighed, messing his curls and walked over to the hallway in the direction of his bedroom.

\- If she wasn't, Westbrook would already have said... Sherlock? What is it? - John frowned as he watched the detective consultant freeze at the entrance of his room.

Worried, the doctor went to him and stopped. In Sherlock's bed was Molly Hooper.

* * *

How had she come back to London? The last time he had heard from her, Sherlock came to the knowledge that she was in Boston with Mathias Westbrooke.

And with the British Government help, he also came to the knowledge that Westbrook was a villain, much like Moriarty. But instead of helping people dispose off, murder or make other people disappear, Mathias would help companies that struggled, giving them a boost so in the future, he would collect the favour in his best interest, would that be dispose off, murder or make other people or company disappear.

And Sherlock ended up understanding that Molly knew that. Knew who Mathias Westbrook was, which organization he served - the same one that Mr. Hooper had escaped from with his daughter years ago.

And Sherlock had come to the conclusion that his pathologist had disappeared in the middle of the night to protect him. Him! He had been so furious and helpless for days. For the first time he didn't know what to do - or he did, but he couldn't shake the fact that if he had moved against Westbrooke, he would have hurt Molly. But, even so, that didn't help the fact that he knew she was in danger and she needed him and that he missed her - his Molly.

But now... Now she was back.

* * *

Molly breathed deeply when she woke up and looked at the shadow on top of her. Sherlock was looking back at her with a curious look.

\- I'm sorry... - It was his pathologist first words, her voice barely loud enough to hear.

\- Scoot over. - Sherlock simply said with kind eyes.

Frowning, not understanding where he was going at, Molly did what he said and gave him room to lay down next to her.

Once he was settled, Sherlock opened his arms.

\- Come here.

The pathologist looked at him with curiosity at his request and - was that fear? Or sadness?

\- Molly... - Sherlock sighed.

Immediately, she cuddled against him, burying her face between his neck and shoulder as if she didn't wanted him to look at her.

\- You should be angry at me, Sherlock. - Her muffled voice reached his ears.

\- Who says I'm not, Molly Hooper?

\- You have a peculiar way of showing it.

\- I'm not a yell kind of person. You should know that.

\- Only sometimes.

Sherlock chuckled lightly and his arms tightened around her as did her arms around him.

\- I was trying to protect you. And John and Rosie.

\- How did you got there?

\- He caught me in my apartment.

\- How did you escape, Molly?

\- I have my ways. I didn't think I would get to the airport though.

\- What did he do to you?

\- Nothing.

Sherlock's fingers stroked her side softly, soothing the fear he heard in her voice. Westbrook had definetely done something, even if it was merely psychological.

\- He just left me alone. I could go around Boston, always with guards, though. Never truly alone. He probably knows I'm back here, Sherlock. - Her body trembled in his arms as she pressed closer.

\- I already warned Mycroft. They swept the area and we have agents on the streets and rooftops. You're safe.

\- Moriarty was the same organization as Westbrooke.

That made Sherlock tighten his arms again around her.

\- Did Moriarty knew when he met you?

\- No. He was more interested in you.

They stayed quiet for a few minutes, until Sherlock decided to do something. Something that would change everything.

\- Molly?

\- Hm?

\- We never finished that kiss.

Immediately, Sherlock felt her tense, her cheeks warm up against his thin shirt.

\- Sherlock...

\- Look at me, Molly.

\- You're angry.

\- Then what better way for you to make me forgive you?

\- You're not being seri... - The detective got what he wanted. Molly had leaned her head back for him and he just crashed his lips onto hers, kissing her with all his might.

\- Sneaky bastard. - The pathologist said, breathlessly, when their lips broke.

Suddenly, Sherlock was on top of her. His blue eyes mischievous that made Molly think of a boy on the verge of doing something naughty.

\- I really want to continue that kiss, Molly Hooper. - Sherlock's voice was thick and low and that sent a chill up the pathologist's spine, her breathing changed, her pupils dilated. - As well as do this. Been dying to do it. - His hand, that had followed down her side to her leg, made a movement. That made her moan lowly and inhale deeply, making him settle in between her legs.

Sherlock smirked, seeing the effect he had on her as he kept caressing her pressure point.

\- How did you...?

\- Know you had a soft spot? So soft that it would get that reaction from you? I am observing you for years, Molly Hooper.

With that, Sherlock kissed her again.

* * *

It was dawn, Molly could tell.

She looked to her side. Sherlock was deeply asleep and she smiled.

\- Sleep, Molly.

Apparently, not as deep as she thought and the pathologist giggled.

\- Shh... I need some water.

\- I can go get it.

\- Are you trying to keep me in your bed, Sherlock Holmes?

Happiness could be heard in her voice and that made Sherlock smile.

\- Perhaps. - He peeked one eye open at her.

Molly leaned closer and kissed his cheek.

\- One minute. Sleep.

Sherlock mumbled something that made Molly smile as she picked up his dark silk shirt from the floor and put it on. The feeling was amazing. It was too good to be true, but she would take any piece of heaven, any piece of Sherlock Holmes she was allowed to. Who knows what would happen as soon as the day went on?

While she drank her glass of water, Molly looked over the window and smiled. London didn't change, her smoky atmosphere, her busy people. If she tried, she could hear Mrs. Hudson starting her day. She smiled. She had missed these people. Her people. Westbrook wouldn't touch them.

Lean and strong arms slipped over her body and Sherlock placed his chin on her shoulder.

\- I missed London and my friends.

Sherlock nodded lightly as he too looked over the window.

\- We missed you too, Molly. - He made her turn and look at him, his eyes serious as one of his hands went to her cheek. - I missed you, Molly Hooper. You can ask John, I was driving him insane over the last five months. - His voice was so deep and his eyes had no mischief in them.

Molly gulped softly, her hands fisting his robe.

\- I love you, Molly Hooper. I'm sorry it took this long to say it to you, with you in front of me. In my arms.

\- Sherlock... - Molly's voice came out in a whisper. She didn't know what to say. She only knew that she longed for those words for years.

\- It's the truth. I love you. - Sherlock made a move to lock his lips with hers.

However, something happened, he could see it in Molly's eyes as she got free from his arms and without a word walked to his bedroom. With a frown the detective consultant followed her and found her holding a gun in his direction.

\- Molly? Where did you got that? Why...

\- Stop talking, Sherlock. - There was a strain in her voice. Her eyes were glassy as if she was hipnotized.

\- Lower the gun, Molly.

\- I... Can't.

\- Molly, it's me. You know me.

\- Exactly. - She sobbed holding the gun towards Sherlock. Tears were gathering in her glassy eyes. - There's something... I can't fight it.

\- Yes, you can. Westbrook... He did something to you, Molly. He couldn't just let you leave.

Sherlock took a step closer.

\- Don't! I have to kill you, Sherlock. - Her voice showed how much in pain his Molly was.

\- He didn't hurt you but he brained washed you somehow. Without you knowing.

\- He always left me alone.

\- Perhaps in your sleep. - Sherlock rambled.

\- It can't be! I would remember...

\- People don't remember when they are being hypnotised, Molly. You wouldn't even know it.

Something in her eyes told Sherlock that she was considering his words spite her state.

\- I always slept well in Boston.

\- That can't be true. You always toss and turn. I should know. You spent weeks here. I... watched you sleep many times in your flat.

\- Sherlock.

\- I love you.

Something made Molly cry again and she bumped her hand in her head in a crazy move.

\- Don't say it. Please... - Sherlock never thought he would hear Molly beg, with such sadness and tiredness. She was at her breaking point.

 _"He's using the thing, the word that hurts you and her the most in his advantage."_ Mary's voice sounded from his mind palace with a sad tone.

\- Love... - Sherlock whispered, observing his pathologist, realizing he had triggered whatever Westbrooke had done to her. He took one step closer in her direction. - Molly, we'll get over this. You just have to fight it.

Molly's hands were trembling.

Sherlock could see how much she was fighting the hold - she always was so strong, someone has to be when dealing with him. And he had seen her in pain so many times because of him. Would she miss the shot if he told her to shoot him? He never saw her with a gun before.

Inside his mind palace, Sherlock was trying to find an answer. He would need to take a chance for the both of them. He needed to end her pain. He hated seeing her like that - always did even when he was the cause of it, the flash of a Christmas evening passed through his mind right before it went to the Sherrinford trials.

\- It was an experiment, Molly.

\- I don't believe you, Sherlock. Not after last night.

\- Maybe last night was an experiment also. - The detective consultant saw the pathologist hold on the gun slack a bit.

\- You bastard. - That word sounded the same as when he said he loved her for the first time at his younger sister's cruel test.

\- Yes, that's what I am. A bastard. I always was a bastard to you, to everyone. - Sherlock took one more step. - You always saw through me, though. You always saw the true me. You were the one that saw I was sad. You were the one that saw I was lying, that slapped me. That got truly angry at what I was doing and saying.

\- Sherlock... you're trying to make me shoot you faster. I don't want to. - Molly sobbed, tears were streaming down her cheeks now.

\- Just do it, Molly. I deserve it, you know I do.

\- No...

\- Do it, Molly! - Sherlock snapped with a crazed look in his face. - Your pain will end once I'm gone.

\- Please... Just go... I can't hold it much longer. - He was so close now. She wouldn't miss now. - I saved you once. I can do it again.

Suddenly the gun was against her chest.

Panic rose in Sherlock.

\- No! Molly, lower the gun. Point it at me!

The sound went off and everything went black.

* * *

 **Sorry! Next chapter will be up soon! I promise!**

 **Review?**


	12. Chapter 12

Hello! Thank you for your lovely messages. I'm afraid we are at the end of this story. Only one more chapter left.

In the meantime, enjoy this one.

Warning: time leaps ahead.

 ** _Info:_**

 _""+ italics_ = inner thoughts, mind palace

 _italics_ = scenes from the past

* * *

 **Chapter Twelve: Her Sherlock**

They had been rushed to the hospital. John helping Sherlock throughout the day as the doctors tried to save Molly Hooper. His friend's Molly. But there was little thing the former army doctor could do. His friend had sat down on a chair in the waiting room and retreated to his mind palace.

In there, Sherlock had a mantra that kept him ecstatic for the long hours of waiting. " _She can't die. She won't die._ "

Even Mycroft ended up in the hospital when his agents placed at the 221B informed him of what happened.

With a crazed look, Sherlock was up in a heartbeat and pressed his fists into his older brother suit jacket.

\- Where is he?! Where's Westbrooke?!

The British Government didn't step away or made a move to stop the detective consultant reaction. Instead, he placed his hands on his younger brother's shoulders and calmed him down. The distraught look on Sherlock's face, made Mycroft's own heart jump in sadness. In a very long time he hadn't felt like this. Perhaps he could compare to the anger he felt upon seeing his younger brother destroy Molly's casket at Sherrinford.

\- We don't know, Sherlock. He disappeared after that deal he made yesterday morning. - It was the truth, Sherlock could see it in his eldest brother eyes. - We are going to find him. I promise, brother mine.

The detective consultant merely nodded with a clenched jaw, letting go of his brother and sitting down once again.

Hours later, one of the surgeons that had taken Molly came to find the trio. John had immediately leaped up from his seat, Mycroft looked up from the paper he was currently reading and Sherlock merely turned from the window he had been staring out from.

\- Dr. Hooper will be alright. She's in the recovery room and it will take a few hours for her to wake up. The bullet went through her chest, grazing part of her left lung, but nowhere near her heart. If I would know better, she knew where to aim. - The man knew them from St. Barts and looked directly at Sherlock. - She will need time to completely recover but in the end she will have just a scar to show.

\- Thank you. - John said, nodding with a smile and sigh of relief.

Mycroft left with the excuse of trying to figure out where Westbrooke was hiding. And when John and Sherlock found Molly's room, already two agents MI6 were at her door. They nodded and let the two friends in.

The immediate thought that the detective consultant had was how fragile and pale she looked and the white of the room didn't help. He thought of buying flowers, her favourite ones, to colour the room so when she would wake up, Molly had happiness surrounding her.

In that moment, Sherlock Holmes vouched to make her happy, always. To not let danger and sadness surround her ever again.

He slid the only chair in the room closer to the bed and sat down, determined to wait. It was no good to go and find Westbrooke. Not even himself would know where to find the villain this time.

Besides, Sherlock knew where he would go next. If he was anything like Moriarty, Westbrooke would come to him, would come to get her. And Sherlock Holmes would be waiting.

* * *

A smartphone vibrated.

The detective consultant frowned but it was not unexpected. He just wondered why it had taken one day for an answer.

\- **Sherlock Holmes.** \- Westbrooke voice sounded from the other side.

\- Westbrooke.

\- **I see you finally came to terms with your feelings. James was right after all.**

Sherlock rolled his eyes, the blue of them trained on the still form of Molly Hooper.

\- What do you want, Westbrooke? You got what you wanted. You hurt me as much as I hurt you. - He said in the calmest voice he could muster at the moment.

There was silence for a few seconds.

\- **I see you researched about me.**

\- It wasn't difficult, after what Molly said about you and Moriarty. Close friends, probably lovers... Though I don't find any clues to conclude that reasoning.

There was a laugh from the other side.

\- **Well, close enough, I gather. But listen...**

\- I ask again, what do you want? Isn't it enough what you did to her?

\- **Molly is mine!** \- Sherlock could sense Westbrooke anger. - **She was supposed to grow up in the organization. To be with me!**

\- But she didn't. You should have left her alone.

\- **And you shouldn't have killed Moriarty!**

\- Moriarty killed himself! - Sherlock's anger was becoming palpable and he feared what the man might do more to hurt Molly. - How did you brainwash her? She's strong. She wouldn't have killed me. How did you change her mind?

\- **For a long time you considered her someone not worthy of your time. I just had to bring those emotions back and play with them a little.** \- Westbrooke said in an almost playful tone, all anger gone. He almost sounded like Moriarty himself for a moment.

Sherlock frowned. He knew how much he had hurt Molly through the years. But using those... sentiments - buried and dealt with sentiments - was making him furious. No one could do that - not even him was allowed anymore.

\- I will fix her. Just like I did before and you will lose, Westbrooke. - Sherlock said, hissing the angered words, ready to burst.

\- **I would like to see that. I took all the precautions. So even if she had survived, even if she didn't kill you, she would feel... Well, why don't I let you see for yourself?** \- Westbrooke sing-songed the words.

\- What did you do?! Tell me! Leave her be! Come and play with me instead!

 **\- Funny you say that, Sherlock Holmes, because this will be a fun game to play.**

" _Yes, it will, my dear Sherlock._ " The actual Moriarty voice sounded from the detective consultant mind palace.

* * *

Molly was finally waking up. He could tell by the way of how her breathing changed, how her brows drawn together for a moment.

He felt and probably looked like crap. After Westbrooke call, hours ago, he had paced the room, he had deducted a number of ways the villain could have affected his Molly. And no conclusion had come to his mind. Not even in his mind palace where James Moriarty had taken control since that moment.

The detective consultant saw brown eyes open and for the first time in his life, Sherlock Holmes was anxious - not angry or nervous, but anxious. He never got anxious. And there was only one reason - for the first time he didn't know what mind set Molly had at the moment. Had she gone back to normal? Did she still have her orders to kill him? She had missed the shot and she had shot herself - failed miserably at that, he might add, though fortunately - and now she would hate him, it was the only answer for someone hypnotized and that hadn't fulfilled the orders given.

Sherlock observed the moment that Molly recognized him. The terror that went through her eyes made his heart flip to his throat.

\- Molly...

\- Go away. - Her voice came out hoarse, her eyes fleeting away from him to the door. - Leave!

\- I will. But answer me this one thing. - Sherlock took one step closer, slowly, to watch her reaction.

A smile twitched at the corner of his lip when he saw her brow perked up in curiosity at his words. His Moly was still in there and he would bring her out.

\- What do you really want? - The detective consultant leaned closer to her face, reading her expressions. - You already know you can have me. You have no doubt of that. So why should I leave? Why should I be gone from your life? You. Can. Have. Me. Molly Hooper.

There was something in Molly's eyes that snapped. He could tell the change in her pupils. How she flustered at his words, though slightly.

\- I don't want you. - Her voice came out faint, barely a whisper, with no strength at all.

\- That's Westbrooke words...

\- No. - She didn't let him finish. - I don't want you here. I don't want you near me. I don't ever want to see you again. - Molly's words came out clearer and void with any sentiment now.

As observant of the human behavior, Sherlock recognized all of that, even in her eyes.

\- Leave. Now. - Molly turned her head from him, her eyes catching the flowers in her nightstand. Her favourite ones.

Sherlock frowned. His deductions told him that it was Westbrooke doing. He was winning. His failsafe if Molly didn't kill him. Her shutting down her feelings for him. His blue eyes followed her form and he could see her hands. They were fists as if she was tense... as if she was trying to fight against something.

He was causing her pain.

Without another word, he left the room.

* * *

Two weeks.

Two weeks later and she was back at her apartment. She knew he was there. Right outside. It was like she could feel his blue eyes on her. But she couldn't do anything. The power Westbrooke had on her had vanished, yes, but until his threat was dealt with, she couldn't go find Sherlock - her Sherlock.

Her chest hurt. Not only from the bullet but also from her sadness and anger.

Her chest hurt but she was ready. She knew it was a matter of time until Mathias Westbrooke came and find her. It was a matter of time, he would know she had left the safety of the hospital. It was a matter of time until he passed through her security provided by Mycroft Holmes.

It was a matter of time until she would have to deal with the biggest enemy she ever had.

Molly laid on the sofa, not really doing anything. She had her lights low, her TV off. She just listened to the sounds surrounding her apartment late at night.

Waiting.

Suddenly there was something. Something different, an airflow coming from a window somewhere. She sat up, slowly, looking to her own bedroom door, her eyes set severe.

\- Delilah. - The voice sounded soft, almost like a lover would.

\- Mathias.

The man smiled, standing in the middle of the hallway, his eyes swiping around the living room.

\- I'm glad you are okay, my dear.

\- Not thanks to you.

Westbrooke nodded slightly, recognizing something in Molly's stance.

\- I see my compulsion faded. - He saw Molly's shoulders slump a bit. - No matter. I got what I wanted. - He stepped closer to the woman he was eager to have in his arms. - I wonder... Answer me this, my dear Delilah. Why didn't you told your beloved Sherlock you were no longer under my command?

Molly stood, slowly walking away from the disgusting man. He reminded her of Moriarty. She looked out the window to delete that image from her mind.

\- He doesn't have to know. He is no longer in my life, anyway. - A tremble passed through her lips and she only wished that Westbrooke haven't noticed. He might use that against her. Against him - her Sherlock. She couldn't allow that.

With an intake of breath, she felt Mathias right behind her.

\- You are still coming with me, my dear Delilah. - He said in a whisper and that angered her as she stepped away from him.

\- Don't call me that! That's not my name. - She placed her hand on her chest. It hurt. It hurt so much.

\- I can take care of you...

\- No! Why can't you leave me alone?! I'm not going to Boston, I'm not going anywhere with you. - Molly's hand found the countertop of the kitchen as she balanced herself to keep upright. All she wanted was to lay down and sleep.

Westbrooke strode after her.

\- You are coming with me or I will make sure your beloved Sherlock dies. - He hissed the words.

\- You will find that is a hard feat to accomplish.

Two pair of eyes looked over to the hallway.

\- Sherlock Holmes. - Amused, Westbrooke grinned, letting go of Molly. - I knew you would appear sooner or later. For someone that surveils someone, you keep yourself rather at plain sight, don't you?

The detective consultant took one step closer to the pair. His eyes were dark as he took a look at Molly to make sure she was alright. The assessment told him she was nervous, afraid and in pain. She shouldn't have left the hospital.

\- I wonder what my dear Delilah saw in you. You are not that extraordinary. Even James was almost infatuated by you. - Westbrooke stepped closer to the detective. - I wonder what did he saw.

\- Perhaps he had found an equal. But I doubt it. I am clever than he ever was. Or, perhaps... You weren't a challenge enough. - Sherlock said in a scoff.

A flash of rage went through Mathias eyes, his jaw ticked and Sherlock smiled. That's what he wanted, to make him angry, angry at the point he would lose control.

\- Did you know that she is your pressure point, Holmes? - Westbrooke's hand grabbed the pathologist chin, making her whimper. Sherlock's lips turned into a thin line, his hands went to fists as he took a step closer. - John Watson, Mrs. Hudson or your dear brother Mycroft are important, yes, but your dear Molly... Did you know she's the one that always got you confused? I must thank James for this little information. I guess he never believed you would pay her any attention.

Sherlock's face was hard. His blue eyes barely leaving Westbrooke ones. From the corner of his eyes, he sensed Molly's intake of breath. He could see she needed attention.

\- This is between you and I, Westbrooke.

\- No, no... No! You will let me leave this place or I will make sure all of them... all of your dear friends die! - Mathias shouted, his hold on Molly tightening. - You took Moriarty from me. So, I will take her with me. She is mine by right, after all.

\- I wouldn't do that if I were you. - Sherlock took one step closer but stopped short to the pair upon seeing the gun Westbrooke was holding at his side.

\- Do tell me, Sherlock Holmes, what are you going to do to stop me? - Westbrooke held a gun towards the detective consultant.

\- No!

Molly threw herself into Westbrooke's arm, unbalancing him. And the last thing she heard was the loud bang of a gun going off.

* * *

 **Reviews, please?**


	13. Chapter 13

Hi! I know! It's been two months, but I didn't know how to end this story. Hopefully this is a good ending and I hope you all like it.

 ** _Info:_**

 _""+ italics_ = inner thoughts, mind palace

 _italics_ = scenes from the past

* * *

 **Chapter Thirteen: Emotional Place**

Mycroft Holmes looked at the man right in front of him, with an arm carefully pinned against his chest because of the gunshot wound he had suffered three nights ago. He had caused so much pain, so much hurt and he didn't show any remorse. He thought of his younger brother and how he was suffering. His blue eyes turned to the window with a pained look as he watched the water go by under the helicopter.

\- What are you thinking about, Mr. Holmes? - The man's voice sounded, there was a hint of a devious smile on Westbrooke lips.

The British Government eyes narrowed for a moment as he turned to the prisoner, thinking on the right words.

\- On how you will never see the world ever again, Mr. Westbrooke. You will be confined in Sherrinford for the rest of your life and your legacy will be destroyed much like the companies you bought and divided and destroyed.

Westbrooke barked a laugh at the severe stance on the older Holmes features.

\- I wouldn't be too sure about that, Mr. Holmes. In the end, I got what I wanted. Your brother took someone from me. And now I did the same. - Westbrooke leaned closer to Mycroft, a moment in silent as if he was judging the older man. - I won. - He whispered right before laughing like a mad man.

Mycroft's lips thinned, in anger, the only display of emotion he would show to that man.

\- That is most likely, Mr. Westbrooke. But you forgot to learn something about my younger brother. He can be vindictive at the point of madness. No one will know your name. Your company will lose everything and, in a matter of a few months, probably even weeks, no one will remember you ever existed. And the world will be a better place.

Mathias Westbrooke narrowed his eyes as if reading something in the man's eyes, but in that moment the helicopter landed and the British Government left the cabin. A guard pulled the prisoner out and into the building.

The place was silent, all the formalities already taken care of.

Mycroft escorted Westbrooke to a secured wing, only lighted by lamps.

\- I'm sure you'll know what to do. - His voice sounded to somewhere over to a shadowed wall and left Westbrooke in his own private wing where he would never receive any visitors or company of any kind.

For a moment the man got confused until he heard a breathing and he got knocked down. He only had time to see a woman, a crazy feature looming over him before his conscience slipped away.

* * *

 _" - Molly!_

 _She felt two hands grabbing her carefully and pressing her into a warm body._

 _\- Sherlock... - She whispered, trembling, her voice afraid._

 _\- Shh... don't say anything. You're not leaving my sight ever again, Molly Hooper. - Sherlock's voice sounded pained and whispered as he held her against him. - I promise._

 _She mumbled something but Sherlock didn't understood what it was and a moment later Molly lost her consciousness."_

\- I'm not leaving, John! And that is final.

\- Mr. Holmes... - The nurse looked at both him and John Watson currently stationed by the pathologist hospital room.

\- It's been three days, Sherlock. Molly's fine. She just needs some rest and not to have you hovering over her all the time.

John Watson was starting to lose his patience. He knew his friend needed to be with Molly, but the doctors already had cleared that the pathologist was in good health and only needed some rest to recover from the bullet wound and the excitement from a few nights before.

\- I'm not leaving her side. - The detective consultant crossed his arms as if a petulant child.

\- Sherlock... - John Watson voice sounded tired. He was glad that Sherlock already had come to terms with his feelings for Molly - happy, even. But a looming Sherlock wouldn't help on his friend's recovery.

\- No, John... I'm not...

\- Sherlock...

Three pairs of eyes turned in Molly's direction.

Immediately, Sherlock was by her side, carefully picking up her hand and the nurse looked over her informations on the screen.

\- What's wrong? - She asked, her voice coming out hoarse.

\- The nurse wants me to leave. And I'm currently refusing the order.

\- You should go. - Molly's hand squeezed his for a moment and then let go. - There's no need for you to be here.

\- But, Molly... - Sherlock almost whined, which earned him a curious look from both John and the nurse.

\- Sherlock... - She said, tired with a roll of her brown eyes. There was a bit of amusement deep down in them which earned her a smile from her detective consultant. - For once, just do what people say.

\- But...

The pathologist gave him a pained look.

\- Fine. - Sherlock said in a bit of a dramatic manner, pulling himself up from the hospital bed.

\- Thank you. - Molly rewarded him with a soft smile.

The detective consultant smiled at his pathologist and leaned forward, his lips connecting with her skin and left a kiss on her forehead, with the softest of touches.

And when he left, he turned his blue eyes one last time in her direction.

* * *

A few days had gone by up until the moment Sherlock stood at Molly Hooper's apartment door.

He didn't know why she hadn't told him she had left the hospital, but it took him a few days more to get enough courage to knock at her door. Though he knew she wasn't under Westbrooke influence anymore, the detective consultant didn't know how they would continue what they started months before. And truth be told, he had no deductions about the coming future - and he was terrified about it.

He could hear her footsteps on the other side. Though, he noticed, it took Molly a moment to open the door.

\- Sherlock? What are you doing here? - There was a breathless hint in Molly's voice as she looked up into the detective consultant blue eyes. There was something on her own brown ones that told him she didn't want to appear too eager to see him after so many days.

Taking that into his advantage, Sherlock took a step closer, his eyes never leaving hers as she looked up.

\- I can't visit a friend, Molly Hooper?

Molly's face softened. Her shoulders relaxed.

\- Sure. Come in. I was just watching a film. Mike gave me a leave of absence for undetermined time. I guess it was your brother doing? - The pathologist looked over her shoulder at him.

\- I don't know what you are talking about. - Sherlock followed her inside the apartment and closed the door, looking around. Everything looked the same as if nothing had happened.

\- Mhm... - Molly smiled slightly, sitting down and picking up her mug of tea. - I was thinking on going to Baker Street, actually. I have to talk with John.

\- Why John? - Sherlock sat on one of the chairs next to her sofa.

\- I have to thank him. I didn't know what would have happened if he hadn't shot first. You could have been killed, Sherlock. - There was a hint of fear in Molly's voice.

\- But I wasn't. - His own voice was calm as he approached her, curious. - What about me? Were you going to thank me aswell?

\- Sure. Why wouldn't I thank you? - She took a sip of her tea.

\- You seem to be avoiding me, Molly. You didn't tell me you were let go from the hospital.

\- And? I don't have to tell you everything I do, Sherlock.

\- Oh, but you do. - Sherlock knelt in front of her, his hands on each side of her. He saw her flinch, but it was a mere reflection and not the intended backing away she had done for weeks, months...

\- Why?

\- Because either you like it or not, Molly Hooper, you are mine to keep and protect and you let me go through hell because of you and your idiotic actions and fragile attempts of keeping me away from you.

\- If you are going to be rude and mean...

Molly didn't get to finish. Sherlock's lips had found hers. Oh, and how soft and demanding they were.

\- I learned something from you and John. Even my sister. - Sherlock whispered against her lips as he leaned back. - My deductions, though mental and through reasoning, they come from an emotional place and that's why I react the way I do, stabbing, rudeness, shooting walls... And now your actions are a reflection of them.

\- I don't understand. - Molly frowned.

\- I've come to know you very well, my Molly. And right now, I know you are afraid.

\- Afraid?

\- I know that Mycroft showed you the video of me destroying your casket at Sherrinford. He told me himself a few days ago.

\- Why would that make me afraid? That's absurd. - Molly leaned back against the sofa as she stared at him.

\- For the same reason I am.

The pathologist leaned her head to the side, curiosity was hovering her eyes. He knew she wouldn't ask.

\- I am afraid you don't want me anymore. That you had changed your mind. That you would act like the way you did after what happened there. What I had made you say. I was losing my mind back then. You were impenetrable.

\- Sherlock... - Molly placed her hand on his cheek, softly. - Nothing would make me stop loving you. I did learn how to read you. It took me a while, but I got to know you very well too. When Mycroft showed me that video, I never thought I would see you that hurt, in pain... You knew you hurt me, you knew how much I cared... How much I loved you, and you were... so distraught about what you had just made me do. I mean... You destroyed the casket with your bare hands, Sherlock. - She closed her eyes, recalling the images.

Sherlock's hand found her side, the patch of skin showing and slowly he pulled her against him.

\- Tell me. - His soft baritone voice sounded.

When Molly opened her eyes, they were closer, she was at the edge of the sofa, his body cradled between her legs. She placed her free hand on his other cheek.

\- Yes, I am afraid, Sherlock. I'm afraid of being loved by you. I'm afraid of your intensity. I always was mesmerized by it, but after what I saw... I'm afraid of being loved by you and lose you. Because you changed your mind, because of some case, because you met someone better...

His long fingers touched her lips, stopping her.

\- You won't lose me, Molly Hooper.

\- You don't know the future, Sherlock.

\- No, I don't. - His blue eyes locked on hers. - I'm done trying to deduce it. I was going insane at Baker Street and that's the reason I am here today. I will deduce cases, but I won't deduce you, or us. Or the future.

Sherlock frowned when he saw tears starting to fall down his Molly's cheeks.

\- Did I said something wrong?

\- No... no, nothing at all... - Molly's voice sounded breathless and happy.

At his puzzled look, she pushed herself against him, crushing her lips into his and her hands wandered over his shoulders to divest him off his long coat.

In a matter of minutes, clothes were flying, hands were touching and moans were filling Molly's apartment as they wandered until they fell into bed and began their future together.

* * *

When Mycroft Holmes waltz into Molly Hooper's hospital room and showed her the video of Sherlock Holmes destroying the casket meant for her at the Sherrinford trials, the pathologist never thought she would have that night. Or any other night that came after.

They were together for almost six months and she had moved to Baker Street not too long ago because Sherlock had stated: "It's the reasonable thing to do, Molly. We are best when we are together and I want you there. And that is final." After that, there was no reason behind anything they did. The only reasonable thing they would do were the cases that kept flowing into the 221B.

As her brown eyes looked over a sleeping London street, Molly recalled the moment she watched her detective consultant tear the casket off. She had so many doubts about him, about them and those images had turned them into dust. At the end, even before she had gathered the courage to speak to Sherlock and what they would do next since Westbrooke was no longer a threat, he had come to her. She smiled, blushing a little as she remembered that night.

For a moment she got flustered and wondered how a mind like his had come to know so much about pleasure. But, then again, he was Sherlock Holmes, after all.

Her Sherlock.

Placing her glass down on the kitchen counter, the pathologist went back to his bedroom - no, their bedroom - and slowly got back into bed.

Right before she fell asleep, feeling a possessive arm sneak around her waist, Molly Hooper enjoyed the sight that was a naked and asleep Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

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